Time Switch
by Cornish Rhapsody
Summary: Sam is de-aged mentally to age 8 by a Warlock's curse. How will Dean cope? What challenges will they have to face? What are the demons planning? Set early Series 2 when Sam and Dean are just coming to terms with John's death. Possible spoilers up to this point and beyond. Awesome big brother Dean! Cute, adorable Sammy!Disclaimer: not mine, just playing with them.
1. Chapter 1

A beam of bright blue light shot straight towards Dean as the crystal exploded.

"No!" screamed Sam, flinging himself across the room. He barrelled full-force into Dean, sending his brother crashing heavily to the floor and out of the path of the beam. His momentum was not enough to save himself however, and Sam took the full impact of the strange light in the middle of his chest.

To Sam, it felt like every single cell in his body was on fire. Dean was already scrambling to his feet when he heard the scream of anguish ripped from his brother's throat. The sound was cut off abruptly as Sam was then thrown with considerable force into the opposite wall. He slid down, unmoving.

"Sammy? Sam? Can you hear me?" Dean was at his side in an instant, indifferent to any lingering danger to himself, focussed only on the well-being of his baby brother. One hand placed on the pulse point in his neck and the other in front of his mouth, reassured Dean that Sam was indeed alive and breathing.

He quickly triaged the unconscious boy, relieved to find that there were no broken bones. At present, there was no evidence of internal bleeding either, but Dean knew he would need to keep his eye out for signs of clinical shock. The reason for Sam's unconscious state was immediately apparent – he had a knot the size of a golf ball on the back of his head, which was bleeding sluggishly.

"You're gonna have one hell of a headache, kiddo," murmured Dean, gently pressing on the wounded area to halt the bleeding, "possibly a concussion too."

Sam whimpered at the pressure that Dean was applying to the injured area.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean palmed Sam's cheek gently, before moving his hand to his shoulder and shaking him softly. "Come on Lil Bro, it's time to wake up. Open those puppy-dog eyes of yours."

Sam stirred, but didn't open his eyes. His forehead creased as the intense pain assaulted his now awake senses.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here, kiddo. You really shouldn't fight with walls you know."

"It hurts," muttered Sam and Dean was taken aback as he noticed the tears slipping silently from the corners of his brother's scrunched-shut eyes. For Sam to actually cry, Dean knew that the pain level must be unbearable.

"I know, Sammy, let's get you out of here and then we can get you patched up and give you something for the pain. Think you can stand?"

Sam nodded, still keeping his eyes shut, as Dean helped to pull him up into a sitting position. "What happened to me?"

Dean paused in his movements. "You don't remember?" _It sure looks like a concussion is on the cards_ he thought with a sigh.

"Uh-uh, the last thing I remember is going to bed. Is Dad back yet?"

Dean nearly choked. _Yep, my little brother is definitely concussed_ he concluded. Deciding that informing Sam that their father was dead would not be a productive course of action at this point, he decided to play along while his sibling was in this confused state.

"Err, not yet Sam. Come on, we've gotta get you to the car."

Dean crouched down, placing one arm around his brother's waist and looping one of Sam's long arms around his shoulders.

"Okay, on the count of three. One, two…"

Sam slowly opened his eyes against the piercing pain that was lancing through his skull.

Dean felt himself shoved violently away at the same time that he heard his brother yell. In his stooped position, Dean totally overbalanced and inadvertently let go of Sam. Ever the hunter, Dean was on his feet again in a split second, the weapon that he had freed from the back of his jeans in position and ready to fire at this newest threat. It took a moment for Dean to make sense of the scene before him. Sam had scrambled halfway across the room on his hands and knees and was shouting "Get away from me!" _at him!_ Sam's expressive eyes were also wide with fear as they looked at Dean.

Realising that there was no threat, unless you could count his confused brother, Dean quickly replaced his weapon. He held his hands up placatingly and spoke in a soothing voice, "Whoa, Sam, calm down buddy, it's just me."

Sam looked frantically round the room, obviously searching urgently for something. "How do you know my name? What have you done with, Dean? If you've hurt him, our Dad will kill you!"

Dean paused, momentarily at a loss of how to handle this new situation. Dean had witnessed many concussions first-hand and although confusion was common, he'd never seen anything like this. Sam apparently didn't recognise him!

A sob caught in Sam's throat as he eyed the stranger in front of him warily. He was sure that Dean had been right there with him, but when he had opened his eyes, he had found himself in the clutches of an unfamiliar man. Another sob escaped, tears running unchecked down his cheeks. Sam's head felt as though it was going to explode and he was terrified, finding himself alone in these unfamiliar surroundings with no idea how he got there. He just wanted his Dad and big brother_. What if the man had done something to them?_

"Please don't hurt me," he whimpered.

"Sammy, I'd _never_ hurt you! I'm Dean…you've gotta trust me. You hit your head pretty hard, so you're not thinking clearly right now, but it'll all be okay, I promise." Dean had remained where he was, unmoving, unwilling to risk his injured brother attempting to take flight. He knew that he could manhandle Sam out of the warehouse if necessary, but was determined to only do that as a last resort in order to prevent the risk of further injury.

"You're not Dean. You're old…" Sam paused, for the first time taking a proper look at the man before him. There was something familiar about him, not just his features, but in the way that he held himself, that reminded him of his Dad.

"Gee, thanks for the compliment Samantha," muttered the stranger, rolling his eyes.

Sam was taken aback – that gesture, along with the girly nickname, along with the twinkling green eyes (that usually twinkled with mischief, but were now twinkling with concern) were definitely Dean trademarks. Except it was impossible, because Dean was thirteen! Sam's gaze dropped unintentionally lower, as a sharp pain lanced through his skull. Another whimper escaped his lips as he involuntarily clutched his head with both hands, although at the same time, his brain registered the familiar object that was hanging around the man's neck.

"Where did you get that necklace?"

"This aint no necklace, Sammy, only girls wear necklaces! You got it off Bobby and gave it me for Christmas. Don't you remember?"

Sam looked up, a glimmer of hope beginning to form in his eyes. "You really are Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo. It's me."

"Tell me something that only Dean would know then," asked Sam, seeking final reassurance.

Dean thought for a moment. "Your first teacher was called Mrs Greenacre and you were totally in love with her…" Dean ignored Sam's indignant "Was not!" and continued, "…your favourite colour is blue, when you were six you got lost in the shopping mall when you decided to wander off to look in a bookstore – geek-, you're terrified of clowns…"

Dean's reminiscing was interrupted as Sam skittered suddenly over to Dean and kneeling up, flung his arms around his waist, hugging tightly.

"It is you," breathed Sam in relief, almost inaudibly, as his face was buried in Dean's t-shirt, "It's 'cause I hit my head that you look funny…right?"

"Err…yeah, that's right," replied Dean, assuming that Sam's vision must be blurry from the head trauma. His arms slid automatically around Sam, reminiscent of their childhood, when Sam had always been openly physically affectionate. It hadn't been until Sam had turned fourteen that he had decided that it wasn't 'cool' anymore to hug your big brother. Dean had at first really missed the daily physical contact.

"Come on, Tiger, let's get you out of here and sorted out," continued Dean, helping his brother to stand. Sam swayed as soon as he regained his feet and would have fallen if Dean had not had a firm hold on him.

"I feel dizzy, Dean, and my head won't stop hurting," sniffed Sam, as they shuffled slowly across the warehouse floor towards the door.

"I know, kiddo," soothed Dean, taking note with concern of the tears still rolling freely down Sam's cheeks, as well as his pale, drawn complexion.

Outside, the moon shone brightly, casting an eerie glow. Dean was thankful that the moonlight, along with the electric light blazing through the warehouse windows made it easy to see without a flashlight. The last thing he needed was to trip up while half-carrying his gargantuan brother!

It was a slow process, but eventually they made it outside to the Impala.

"I thought you said Dad wasn't back?" asked Sam, looking around expectantly after spotting the car.

"He's not," replied Dean, without skipping a beat, even though inside he was screaming. He couldn't deal with thinking about their father – the pain was too fresh, too raw. Dean opened the passenger door and carefully lowered Sam into the seat before closing the door behind him. He then walked around to the driver's side and got in.

"What are you doing?"

Dean turned immediately at the urgent, horrified tone in his brother's voice.

"What's up, Sammy? You okay?"

Sam was looking at him in confusion. A look that quickly changed to panic as Dean turned the key in the ignition and the Impala roared to life.

"Dean, you can't drive!"

"Of course I can, Sam." Dean used his most reasonable, calming voice, wanting to get Sam back to the safety of the motel room as soon as possible, so that he could decide whether his sibling needed a hospital or not. They'd both suffered concussions in the past, but Dean was growing increasingly concerned with Sam's bizarre behaviour and was beginning to worry that he might have a serious haemorrhage.

"'Cause you don't have a license and 'cause Dad'll kill you!"

"It's okay, Sammy, I do have a license, honest, and Dad gave me the car, remember? So he doesn't mind me driving it…" Dean didn't finish his sentence, as Sam fumbled with the door handle and before Dean could stop him, flung it open and tried to leg it away from the car.

Dean cursed under his breath and gave chase. Under normal circumstances, catching up to Sam would have been extremely challenging, as Sam's long legs literally seemed to eat up the ground. In his present wobbly state however, Dean caught up with him in less than a minute.

"Whoa, Sam," soothed Dean, catching hold of Sam's arm and forcibly halting him, "What's going on with you?"

Sam tried to yank his arm free, at the same time lashing out at Dean with his other arm. "Let me go! You can't be Dean!"

Dean quickly wrapped both his arms around his frantic younger sibling, pinning his arms effectively against his sides. Sam immediately retaliated by kicking viciously at Dean's shins. Dean cursed as one flailing foot painfully connected with it's intended target. Dean then wasted no time using his own feet to sweep Sam's out from under him. As the boy fell, Dean lowered himself in order to cushion his fall, which resulted in Sam in effect sitting on his lap. With Sam having a six foot four frame, this was by no means a comfortable position for Dean, but it did prevent Sam from any further kicking attempts. Dean kept his arms locked tightly around his agitated brother, pulling him back against his chest and unconsciously beginning a rocking motion that had always calmed Sam when he was a young child. "Shh, Sammy, it's okay. You've gotta calm down, buddy."

The fight suddenly went out of Sam and he turned slightly, burying his head in Dean's shoulder.

"I'm scared, Dean. What's going on?" The desperate edge in Sam's voice tugged at Dean's heartstrings. "I know it must be you 'cause you smell like Dean and you're wearing Dad's jacket."

Dean wasn't sure that he liked the idea of having a particular smell! But he was desperate to comfort his brother and asked instead, "What are you scared of, Sammy? You know I'd never let anything bad happen to you."

"Everything's different," Dean had to strain to hear Sam's muffled response, as he still had his head buried in Dean's shoulder. "I thought it was 'cause I hit my head that you didn't look like you, but that doesn't explain the fact that you can drive. And the car's not yours, it's Dad's. And when you caught me just now I realised that we're the same size and that doesn't make sense either."

Dean was puzzled, he had the feeling that this wasn't just concussed ramblings and that he was missing something important. "What do you mean I look different, Sammy?"

"Well, you're an adult, Dean."

"An adult?" Dean was confused. _Of course he was an adult. _"What am I supposed to be?"

"A kid like me. Well, not exactly like me 'cause you're older, but still…"

A perturbing idea began to form in Dean's mind. "Sammy, how old should I be? And how old are you?"

Sam finally lifted his head from his brother's shoulder, his eyes red and puffy from crying, locked on Dean's concerned green ones.

"You turned thirteen last week and I'm eight."

Could this just be inane rambling brought on by concussion or was Dean's emerging idea of amnesia a reality? Dean decided to try and test the theory. "Err, Sammy, can you tell me about my birthday?" At Sam's questioning look, he improvised, "I wanna check your bump to the head hasn't affected your memory."

Sam paused. "Dad was late home from the hunt. I was scared he wouldn't make it in time for your birthday, even though he had promised. He bought you a silver knife with pretty patterns carved on the handle and a new Metallica tape. He said the knife was for camping 'cause I'm still not supposed to know about hunting. Dad took us out for dinner and let you choose a cake at the bakery on the way home 'cause he hadn't had a chance to buy you a proper birthday cake. I made you a card. I drew the Impala on the front. Dad also promised he'd take us to the cinema as part of your present when a film comes on that you wanna see. Is my memory working okay?"

Dean swallowed nervously – Sam had remembered minute details that he himself had forgotten until he had just heard them mentioned again. He wasn't sure what to do – if this was genuine amnesia, then surely Sam needed a hospital, but if his brother started talking about hunting or ghosts or demons, they'd think he was nuts and lock him up. Another niggling thought had begun to surface at the back of his mind, something that with all of his worrying about Sam, he hadn't paused to consider – the exploding crystal. Could Sam's amnesia be linked to that and not the head injury at all? He had after all, been hit full force by the light beam that emanated from it.

Dean realised that Sam was looking at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. "Uh, yeah, Sam, your memory's fine. Can I just check your eyes?"

Dean fished in his jacket pocket for the mini flashlight that he always carried. He had been so intent before, on getting Sam to safety first and had intended to check his pupil responses back at the motel. Dean shone the torch briefly into each of Sam's eyes. Sam squinted against the glare and reflexively tried to turn his head away.

"Hold still," instructed Dean, placing two fingers under Sam's chin and turning his face back towards him. Both pupils were equal in size and responded normally to the light. Dean sighed – concussion would be a lot easier to deal with than a supernatural curse. He paused, thinking hard. Bobby had medical contacts and Sam evidently needed checking out, but what was he to tell a twenty-three year old who thought he was eight?

"Sam?" he said gently, "I don't want you to freak out, okay? Just remember I'm your big brother and that I've gotcha. You're safe. You trust me right?"

Sam nodded. "Always, Dean."

Dean felt a lump form in his throat as he looked at his little brother, who was now totally relaxed, still sitting in his lap and leaning back willingly against his chest, while gazing at him with absolute trust.

"The thing is, Sammy, your memory _is_ fine up until you're eight, but you've forgotten a whole lot of stuff after that."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam in a small voice.

"Do you know what amnesia is?" An indignant snort and eye-roll from his younger brother informed Dean successfully that he did. "Well, I think you've got it. You noticed that we were both the same size? Well, that's 'cause we're both adults. We've both grown up, you've just forgotten. But don't worry though, 'cause I'm gonna fix it."

A smothered groan escaped Sam, as the bump on the back of his head decided to make its presence felt again with a vengeance.

"Come on, kiddo, let's get that noggin of yours seen to." Sam didn't resist as Dean hoisted him to his feet and placed a steadying arm around his waist.

As they made their way slowly back to the car, Sam voiced a question curiously, "Dean, if I've got amnesia, how old am I really?"

"You're twenty-three, dude."

"Wow, I'm old then, huh?"

"If you're old, then what does that make me?" asked Dean with mock indignance.

"That makes you a grandpa!" replied Sam with a giggle. It was a young and carefree sound, one that Dean hadn't heard since Sam had turned fifteen and his relationship with his father had slowly begun to break down.

The drive back to the motel was uneventful. Sam had closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window for the entirety of the journey. As a result, he didn't notice the worried glances that Dean kept throwing at him. After pulling into the parking lot, Dean retrieved the first aid kit from the trunk, before helping Sam into the room and over to the bed furthest from the door.

"Right, kiddo, I've gotta check and clean the cut on your head. Okay?"

Sam nodded and valiantly bit back the whimpers that tried to escape in response to the extra pain that Dean's probing caused. He couldn't stop the tears from beginning to fall again however.

"Nearly done, Tiger," murmured Dean. He was being as gentle as possible, and even though he knew his ministrations were necessary, he still felt incredibly guilty that this was hurting his brother. Luckily, the cut wasn't deep and didn't need stitches – he knew Sam would definitely not appreciate having to have some of his beloved hair shaved off!

Done at last, Dean rummaged once more in the first aid box and returned to Sam with two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"Here, this should help a bit with the pain. I'm sorry I can't give you anything stronger, but it's not safe if you've got concussion."

Sam sniffed and glanced up from blowing his nose on a tissue from the box on the nightstand. He looked at the pills for a moment, but didn't reach for them.

"Errr, Dean, I can't swallow tablets. Do you have any medicine?" he asked hopefully. The pounding in his head was excruciating and he was desperate for anything that would relieve it.

"Sorry, Sammy, no." Dean wracked his brains. He couldn't bear to see the kid in such pain. _What was it their dad used to do when they were little and they'd run out of kiddie stuff? _A distant memory surfaced and Dean quickly retrieved two dessert spoons and crushed the painkillers between them. He then went to the mini fridge and poured a glass of milk (Sam would need it to take the disgusting taste away afterwards!), before adding a tiny amount of the liquid to the spoon and mixing it with the powder.

"Open up, Sammy-boy," instructed Dean, holding out the spoon and when Sam obediently complied, he quickly tipped the liquid concoction into his mouth.

"Eeurgh!" gasped Sam, immediately snatching the glass of milk from his brother and gulping it down. "That was disgusting, Dean!" he whined.

If the circumstances had been different, Dean would have found it hilarious and would have laughed at the face that Sam had inadvertently pulled at the taste of the medicine. As it was, Dean didn't find anything about the situation remotely funny. He was worried sick about the well-being of his baby brother. He needed reassurance that the 'amnesia' wasn't a dangerous threat to Sam's health.

Sam set down the glass on the nightstand and yawned. "Maybe this is all a dream?" he muttered hopefully to himself, obviously not intending Dean to hear.

Dean took in Sam's tired, drawn expression and pulled back the blankets on the bed. "Okay, bedtime."

Sam didn't argue. He simply shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, before climbing into bed fully dressed. Dean didn't comment, although he had expected Sam to get changed first – he had more pressing things to worry about than his sibling sleeping in his clothes. He carefully pulled the blankets back up to cover his brother and prepared to move over to his own bed. Sam's hand quickly shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Please don't leave me, Dean," he pleaded. Dean knew immediately what Sam was asking – whenever Sam had felt insecure or afraid when he was younger, he always wanted Dean close to him until he fell asleep.

"Sure thing, kiddo," murmured Dean quietly, sitting down on the edge of Sam's bed. _If ever the kid had a right to feel afraid and insecure it was now, with all of his memories erased _Dean thought. Without realising it, Dean gently began carding his hand through Sam's bangs, just as he used to when Sam really was a young child and needed comforting.

It didn't take long for Sam to fall asleep. Dean cautiously stood up, careful not to wake the boy, determined to let him rest while he could, knowing that he would have to disturb his sleep at regular intervals throughout the night to make sure that he hadn't slipped into a coma from the head injury. Dean took his cell phone out of his pocket and stepped quietly into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him, not wanting Sam to overhear if he should awaken. He immediately rang Bobby's number.

Bobby answered on the fifth ring.

"Hi, Bobby, it's Dean…" He got no further, as Bobby cut him off.

"All right, what have you two idjits been up to now?"

"What makes you think we've been up to something?" asked Dean, automatically going on the defensive.

"Have you seen what time it is, Boy? I sure hope for your sake it is important and that you're not ringing at this unearthly hour for a friendly chat!"

"Sorry, Bobby, I didn't think of the time. It's Sam…"

Again Bobby cut him off, but this time concern was evident in his gruff voice. "Is he all right? He's not hurt is he?"

"Well…" Dean paused, unsure how to explain, "There's definitely something seriously wrong with him, but I'm not sure if it's medical or not. He seems to have amnesia, but isn't actually showing any physical symptoms of concussion. In fact, he's had much worse bumps in the past and been totally fine…"

Bobby interrupted again. "Slow down, Dean, I'm not following you. Can you start at the beginning?"

"Okay, we got the co-ordinates of a warlock's lair from a coven of witches. They were planning on using a spell to create some kind of entity that would do their bidding and wreak a lot of havoc, you know, the usual. But they needed something or other from this warlock's stash, so we decided to get in there first and stop them by taking it. Apparently, their spell wouldn't work without this orb of something or other…"

Bobby's snort of disbelief halted Dean in his tracks. "Don't tell me you two idjits just waltzed unprepared into a warlock's lair? Didn't your Daddy teach you anything?"

"What's the problem?" asked Dean, totally puzzled by Bobby's reaction. "It was just one male witch we needed to deal with, we've handled lots worse."

"Darn it, Boy! You're lucky you've both escaped with your lives! There _are_ male witches all right, and they're just the same as your usual female variety, but a warlock is _**not **_a male witch!"

"They're not?" asked Dean, feeling foolish, "What are they then?"

"They're not something you should ever mess with, that's what! I personally know of eighteen damn good hunters who went after warlocks, and do you know how many lived to tell the tale? One! I can't believe that Sam, with his penchant for researching everything in sight, didn't know the difference between a warlock and a witch!"

"Errr, Bobby, what _is_ the difference?"

"Well, you know witches are actually the servants of demons, either knowingly or unknowingly? All of their power comes from the demon's they serve, but the demon is always in control. Not so with a warlock. Warlocks do not serve demons, demons serve the warlocks. They are able to harness demonic power and use it for their own ends. How the warlocks actually achieve this is unknown and it's said that the secrets are only passed down through direct bloodlines. Now, what's happened to Sam?"

"We entered the warehouse, but it was empty of anything magical or supernatural as far as we could tell. We thought it was a bust and were going to leave when an old lump of brick on the floor kind of shimmered. When we looked again, it was a crystal and it started to glow. Then it exploded and Sam was caught in a beam of light that came from it. The force of it flung him against the wall and he hit his head hard and was unconscious for a couple of minutes max. But when he came to, he thought he was eight years old and has forgotten growing up. Of course he freaked 'cause he didn't recognise adult me, but I've managed to convince him I _am_ his brother…"

Bobby clutched at the edge of his kitchen table for support. He cared about those boys more than he would ever admit and the shock of what could have happened washed over him. It was a miracle that Sam hadn't been killed outright! Warlock's magic was serious business and this crystal sounded like a trap. He realised that Dean was still speaking and forced himself to concentrate on what he was saying.

"…so I thought he needed to be checked out to see if it is amnesia or some kind of curse, 'cause figured we can't treat it until we know for sure. And having health professionals breathing down our necks is the last thing we need."

"Yeah, you're right, bring him to mine and I'll call in a couple of favours. I know someone at a private clinic that can run any necessary tests no questions asked."

"Thanks, Bobby, you're a lifesaver!"

"Don't thank me yet, we don't know the outcome. I'll start researching in the meanwhile, yah idjit, and you take care of that little brother of yours."

"Will do," said Dean, hanging up and running a tired hand over his face before exiting the bathroom quietly. He checked on Sam and then changed into a t-shirt and sweats, before climbing into his own bed. He set an alarm for an hour and a half later, knowing that he was in for a broken night's sleep.

Dean awoke first in the morning, which was unusual. He immediately jumped out of bed and went to check on Sam. He'd woken the kid at regular intervals four times during the night, on each occasion, being met with a grouchy, sleepy Sammy. Each time, Dean had quickly determined that no, Sam wasn't slipping into a concussion induced coma and yes, Sam still thought he was eight.

Sam definitely looked a lot better this morning, he had some colour back in his pale cheeks. Dean decided to let the kid sleep in after all he'd been through the night before. He quickly packed up their belongings, leaving a clean set of clothes out for Sam. His stomach rumbled and he had already picked up the Impala's keys and was halfway across the room before he realised what he was doing. Dean stopped, horrified! He had nearly gone out to fetch breakfast, leaving an _eight-year-old_ Sam behind on his own.

Dean plonked himself down on the bed with a sigh. Breakfast would have to wait until his brother woke up. To amuse himself in the meanwhile, he picked up Sam's laptop and navigated to a certain site on the internet.

A stirring in the bed opposite alerted Dean to the fact that his brother was now awake. Two sleepy hazel eyes stared back at him.

"Morning, kiddo. How's the head? Once you're dressed, we'll go get some breakfast, okay?"

Sam yawned before answering, "Head's much better than it was, still got a nasty headache though."

Dean nodded and retrieved two painkillers from the first aid kit, before moving to fetch two spoons and some milk.

Sam watched what he was doing and grimaced. "No Dean, that stuff's disgusting! Can't we go buy some medicine?"

"Sorry, Sammy, there's nowhere nearby that sells stuff like that. So it's either this or suffer the pain I'm afraid. Your choice."

With an exaggerated sigh, Sam conceded. "Okay then, I'll take it." He glanced over at Dean's bed. "What's that?" he nodded at the computer.

"It's a laptop." At Sam's uncomprehending stare, Dean elaborated, "It's a portable computer."

"A portable computer? Wow! That's amazing! What does it do? And it's ours? Where did Dad get it from?" Sam slid out of bed and went over to examine the new toy. He caught sight of the screen and froze. "Uh, Dean, what are they doing?"

It took Dean just half a second to bound across the room and slam the laptop shut after remembering exactly what webpage he had been looking at. "Errr, nothing…..they were just being silly, Sam, it was a game. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can go eat." Dean swiftly changed the subject, blushing and cringing inside – that was definitely _**not**_a conversation that he wished to have with his baby brother! He knew for a fact that at eight, Sam was all innocence about such things. Their father had not explained to him about the 'birds and the bees' until the day after his tenth birthday. Dean made a mental note to avoid '' until his brother was cured.

Sam did not comply, instead he reached again for the computer. He knew what computers were of course, though he had never used one before, but he didn't remember ever hearing anything about 'laptops'.

"Uh-uh, little brother," scolded Dean, picking up the laptop and returning it to its case, "_If _you're good, I'll show you how it works later." He would have to make sure he had deleted his browsing history before Sam got his hands on it!

"You will?" asked Sam, his hazel eyes lighting up. "Did Dad steal it? It must be worth a fortune!"

Dean laughed at his brother's enthusiasm. "No, Dad didn't steal it. Actually, Sam, laptops are very common these days. Now _being good_, starts with you taking your medicine and then getting dressed, so if you do want me to show you how to use it…."

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was dressed and ready. After exiting the motel room, Dean unlocked the Impala and they dumped their duffle bags in the trunk. He then told Sam he could get in the car, while he returned the key to the reception desk.

On the way back to his baby, Dean paused, taking in the scene before him – his brother had gotten into the _back_ seat. He shook his head in amusement, of course, eight-year-old Sam always rode in the back, only ever being allowed to ride up front as a special treat. The night before, Dean had physically placed his baby brother in the passenger seat and the kid hadn't commented then, as he'd been too overwhelmed and in considerable pain.

Dean tapped on the window and grinned when Sam looked up at him expectantly. "You can sit up front, kiddo."

Sam's eyes widened. "Really? I get to ride shotgun? Cool!" He quickly scrambled out of the back and into the front. "Does adult me always ride up front with you when Dad's not here?"

Dean nodded, ignoring the automatic tightening in his chest at the mention of John. "You sure do, Sammy. In fact, I even let you drive my baby sometimes."

"I drive the Impala?" squealed Sam with excitement, "That's awesome!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Dean watched Sam surreptitiously as the kid ate his pancakes covered in chocolate syrup with gusto. His brother had been talking nineteen to the dozen ever since they had stopped at the diner for breakfast. _No difference there between child Sammy and adult Sammy, _thought Dean with a smile. He had however forgotten, that at eight, his giant sibling had not yet turned into a health freak, so he had been rather taken aback at the kid's choice from the menu.

Dean carefully took note of Sam's complexion and vigilantly watched his movements, trying to ascertain Sam's overall well-being. The twenty-three-year old showed no symptoms relating to head trauma as far as Dean could tell. In fact, with the exception of having lost the memories of almost two thirds of his life, he seemed perfectly healthy.

Sam glanced eagerly at his steaming cup of coffee now that he had nearly finished his pancakes. He still couldn't believe he was being allowed to have some – his Dad certainly wouldn't allow it! Dean however had merely casually asked Sam if he wanted any when the waitress took their order. He had been surprised at first, until it dawned on him that the adult version of himself probably drank the beverage all the time.

Sam reached carefully for the cup of coffee and took a big gulp. His eyes widened in shock a split second before he spat the entire contents of his mouth back into the cup.

"Yeurgh! How can you drink that?"

Dean watched his little brother's reaction in disbelief, which quickly turned to mortification when he noticed the curious stares of the other diners.

"Sam! Where are your table manners?" he scolded quietly, not wanting the curious onlookers to overhear.

At Dean's disapproving tone, Sam turned his wounded puppy-dog gaze onto his brother. "Sorry, Dean, but it's bitter and horrible. How can anyone like it?"

"That still doesn't mean you can spit it out!" continued Dean, finding it incredibly difficult to remain stern under the onslaught of that gaze, even though he was extremely aware of the especially condemning looks from an elderly couple seated at the next table.

Sam suddenly noticed the stares of those around them too and began to blush furiously. He dropped his gaze to the table cloth with another muttered "sorry".

Dean's own embarrassment at the situation disappeared in an instant in the face of his little brother's discomfort.

"Hey, it's okay. I know you didn't do it on purpose. Don't worry about thinking before you _speak_, just think before you _spit_ next time."

Dean had to lean forward to hear Sam's whispered reply. "They're all staring at me, Dean."

Dean had forgotten how shy Sam had been when he was younger and how much he hated being the centre of attention.

"Ignore them, kiddo, they're just a bunch of nosey old bags." Dean cast a withering glare at the couple at the next table, who quickly looked away.

Sam continued staring at the tablecloth.

Dean tried a new tack. "Would you like some orange juice instead?" He was rewarded by Sam raising his head and nodding.

"Yes, please," he replied with a small smile.

Dean snapped his fingers at a passing waitress and when she paused at their table, he gave her a winning smile. "Hello, Sugar, can we have one super fresh, super cool orange juice please? No, wait, make that two."

"Of course, coming right up," replied the pretty brunette, flirtatiously flipping her long hair back over her shoulder.

Dean forgot who he was talking too for a moment as he watched the waitress move away with a sexy swing to her hips. "Boy, is she a sight for sore eyes! I'd sure like a bit of that!" he whistled.

Dean noticed that Sam was staring at him like he had two heads and inwardly cursed himself for not watching his big mouth.

"You mean you think she's pretty? But she's a _girl_, Dean. And how can you have a bit of her?"

In a way, Dean was relieved, as he knew that he could easily have said something even worse that would have been impossible to explain away. "Trust me, Sammy, in a few years you'll think girls are pretty too. I just meant I wanted to carry on looking at her….'cause she's so pretty and all."

Sam accepted Dean's explanation with an eye-roll. "You're nuts you know. And I swear I'll _never_ like girls."

Dean smirked, but didn't contradict his little brother, wanting to keep the peace. He was careful to keep his expression and replies perfectly neutral and polite when the waitress returned a few minutes later with their drinks.

By the time that they stopped for a late lunch, Dean had realised that it was going to take far longer to get to Bobby's than he originally thought. He also thought that his father deserved a medal! He was finding it tiring driving with _one _young kid in the car, goodness knows how his old man had coped with _two_!

Sam chattered virtually non-stop and was just so enthusiastic about everything he saw! He had begged to stop and look at an unusual rock formation and as Dean had never been able to deny Sam's pleading puppy-dog look (unless Sam's well-being would be in question!), Sam had got his way. That had put them half an hour behind schedule.

Another unplanned stop to look at a field full of lamas of all things had increased the time lag to an hour behind schedule. Then throw into the mix the fact that Sam couldn't sit still for extended periods and so Dean took quick breaks at gas stations just so that the kid could get out and stretch his legs before his constant fidgeting totally drove Dean up the wall.

There was a general store next to the diner, so when they had finished their lunch, Dean decided to pick up some snacks to eat in the car as he didn't plan on stopping (except for leg-stretching breaks, which he feared would be numerous!) again until they booked into a motel for the night.

Sam looked longingly at the books on sale, but didn't make a move towards them, knowing that money was often tight.

Dean noticed his brother's wistful expression and gave the tall boy a gentle shove towards the bookshelf. "Go on, kiddo, choose a few."

Sam turned back, torn between wanting them and not wanting to upset the family finances. "Really? Can we afford it?"

"Yeah, don't sweat it. Get yourself four or five." Dean grinned and waved his brother in the direction of the books. He hoped that maybe Sam would fidget less in the car if he had something to read.

Dean stocked up on junk food and a number of soda cans. He was also careful to purchase a substantial variety of children's medicines, just in case. He had noticed Sam unconsciously rubbing his temples during their lunch break and knew that the kid was ready for another dose of painkillers.

Once back in the car, Dean measured out the required dose of medicine for Sam.

"Here you go, kid, open up. It smells like strawberries, but anything would beat the taste of crushed up pain pills, right?"

Sam tentatively swallowed the spoonful of red liquid. He was relieved that it tasted sweet. His headache had gradually returned over the last hour, but he didn't want his brother to think that he was a wimp, so he had kept his mouth shut. Sam quickly drank down the second offered spoonful too.

Before they set off, Sam insisted on showing Dean his five new books. Dean couldn't help smiling at the kid's enthusiasm. Happiness was written all over his younger brother's face and Dean felt warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that he had helped to put it there.

"Where's Dad and when'll he be back?"

Even though it shouldn't have, the question caught Dean completely off guard. He couldn't possibly tell his brother the truth, but neither could he endure a prolonged conversation about his father either. Dean took a moment to gather his scrambled, panicked thoughts, bending to change the cassette tape that was playing as a ploy to gain more time before answering.

"Not sure, Sammy, he's off following an important lead on a cockatrice, but it could take a while." Dean knew it might take some time to cure his sibling and needed to make sure that the kid wouldn't be expecting their Dad to turn up at any minute.

"How long?" pressed Sam.

"A couple of weeks? Maybe longer…" Dean didn't miss how Sam's face fell at this news. In a way, he knew it shouldn't surprise him – at 8, his little brother had still hero-worshiped his old man, but he had gotten so used to the constant friction between his father and brother that the expression of disappointment on his brother's face was disconcerting.

"But he never leaves us for more than three or four days…." began Sam and then stopped himself, continuing quietly, "…oh, but we're adults now."

Dean was desperate to remove the dejected look off his little brother's face, but before he could say anything, Sam spoke again. "He'll check in with us though won't he?"

Dean thought fast, needing a valid reason for no contact and also wanting to reassure. "Sorry, kiddo, he's out in the wilderness and there's no access to any phones or anything. But don't worry, Dad can take care of himself." _Unless he's making deals with demons! _he thought bitterly.

"Is he on his own?" asked Sam, worriedly.

"No, he's with Caleb and Pastor Jim." Dean silently congratulated himself on comforting Sam while effectively removing any possibility of him expecting to hear from these deceased family friends. However, Dean couldn't help his gut clenching in anguish and pain. _That damn yellow-eyed demon had been directly or indirectly responsible for taking nearly everyone that he had ever cared about!_

"Oh, I'm glad…..Dean, are you alright?"

Dean glanced over and met the worried hazel eyes of his brother. He also realised that he was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles had gone white. "Err, yeah, Sammy. I've just got a bit of a headache, that's all," he lied. _Darn, he'd forgotten that Sam could intuitively read people well even from a young age. He'd have to be extra careful to control and hide his emotions when the kid was around._

Dean leaned forward and cranked up the volume on the car stereo, anxious to prevent any further discussion.

Not to be deterred, Sam simply raised his voice to be heard above the din. "Won't this make your headache worse?"

"Nah Sammy-boy, a bit of classic rock never hurt anyone!" Dean replied with a forced grin.

"Err, Dean….what's a cockatrice?"

Dean groaned inwardly. How could he have forgotten Sam's penchant for constant questioning? This was going to be a long drive…

Sam literally bounced onto his motel room bed, which was furthest away from the door. Dean wondered where the kid was getting his energy from, because he could sure use some too.

He rummaged in his duffle for the salt, so that he could lay a salt line. They didn't usually do that when staying in motel rooms, because it was too difficult to clean up properly afterwards and would raise too many questions, but he wasn't prepared to take any chances with his little brother being in this vulnerable state.

Dean straightened up after salting the window and door to find Sam staring at him, with his head tilted on one side thoughtfully.

"What? Have I suddenly sprouted horns or something?"

"I'm just trying to see the real you in the grown up you."

"Dude, this _**is**_ the real me!" he teased, knowing full well what his little brother meant, "So what's the verdict?"

Sam tilted his head to the other side, still contemplating Dean unwaveringly.

"Well, your eyes are still the same, but your freckles have faded a lot. If I look real close I can tell that it _is_ you in there. And you're really strong-looking and muscly now like Dad. And your hair's the same colour and it still looks like you stuck your finger in a plug socket," he finished with a mischievous smirk.

"Oh is that right, junior? Well you look like you have a mop on your head!" Dean teased back, reaching out and lightly swatting Sam on the thigh, instead of his usual to the back of the head due to his injury.

At Dean's words, Sam suddenly realised something and jumped off the bed before darting into the bathroom. "I don't know what _**I **_look like."

Dean followed with a grin and halted in the doorway. _This he had to see!_

Sam was leaning forward, anxiously studying his face intently in the mirror. He fretfully ran his hands over his cheeks, his eyes widening in shock when he felt the slight bristly sensation.

"Dean?" he questioned, panicked. Seeing a person in the mirror that he didn't recognise was freaky enough, but feeling the light shadow of stubble and taking a moment before his young brain could compute what it must be, had frightened him further.

Dean could read his baby brother like a book and although the kid hadn't explained his thoughts, Dean knew that he was close to freaking out.

He quickly stepped into the bathroom behind Sam and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Sammy," he soothed, "I've gotcha. I know it's weird, but trust me, it'll be okay."

Sam swallowed nervously, but immediately began to calm down – he trusted Dean implicitly, so if Dean said everything would be okay, then Sam believed him.

Dean, desperate to remove the worried expression from the younger boy's face tried a distraction technique next. "Anyway, Sammy, look on the bright side, with the way you look now you're a complete chick magnet."

Dean's words had the desired effect. Sam swung round to face him, an indignant pout now firmly in place. "Ewww gross! I don't want nothing to do with no girls!"

Dean laughed, "But Sammy, with your handsome face and big muscles, they all want to marry you."

"Dork!" said Sam, giving his annoying older brother a shove.

Unfortunately, Sam's twenty-three-year old body was a lot stronger than an eight-year-olds. Equally, Dean wasn't expecting the push, or he would have braced himself. The result was that the momentum from the initial thrust sent him crashing into the side of the bath. It was only Dean's years of extensive, arduous physical training that enabled him to regain his balance enough so that he didn't plant face first in the tub itself.

"Dean! I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Sam moved immediately to Dean's side, worried that he had hurt him and wondering if his brother was going to yell at him.

Sam relaxed when he caught sight of Dean's face as he righted himself. His older brother was laughing, even though he was rubbing his shin gingerly with one hand.

"Don't think you know your own strength there do you, Samantha? But be warned, that's the last time you'll ever catch me off guard," he teased, reaching out and ruffling Sam's unruly locks.

As expected, Sam ducked away from his hand with an indignant, "Hey!"

Dean was relieved and pleased to see that the rising panic had completely faded from Sam's eyes.

Sam turned back for a final look at his adult self in the mirror and froze, his expressive hazel eyes widening as he looked from his own reflection to Dean's and back again.

"What is it, Sammy?" asked Dean worriedly.

The next moment, Sam doubled over laughing and Dean rested a gentle hand on the boy's back wondering what on earth was causing this reaction. "Sammy? You okay, buddy?"

Sam straightened up, still giggling and pointed into the mirror. "Look! I'm taller than you. You're a shorty!" he managed to choke out between the giggles.

Dean shook his head, relieved that his brother wasn't upset again. "I'll have you know that I'm _**not**_ short, young man! You just happen to be exceptionally tall!" he replied with a mock pout.

"Am I taller than Dad too?" asked Sam, finally managing to control his giggling.

"Yeah, Sammy, you are. Now if you've quite finished mocking me, would you like me to show you the laptop now?"

Sam literally bounced on the spot in excitement. "Please, Dean."

Dean asked Sam to sit at the small dining table while he set the computer up. In reality, Dean used this time not only to delete his browsing history, but also to set the search engine to the highest, safest security settings – he didn't want his now innocent sibling to accidentally find anything inappropriate while browsing the web.

Dean let Sam play on the computer for 45 minutes. He couldn't help grinning at the kid's awed expression at what the laptop could do. It made Dean realise how much he took modern technology for granted. How had hunters in years gone by managed without the internet, not only for researching, but also for communicating with each other?

"Okay, Sammy, my turn now. I've gotta do some work on it," said Dean, realising that left to his own devices, the kid would play on it all night.

Sam reluctantly handed the laptop over. "I can play on it again tomorrow can't I?" He turned his puppy-dog eyes full force on his brother.

"Yeah, Sam, you can," replied Dean shaking his head in amusement, while changing the search security settings to their lowest level – the majority of the information he needed would be filtered out if he kept the safe search option on.

Sam looked casually around the room as if trying to decide what to do next.

"Why don't you go and get cleaned up and ready for bed?" asked Dean, nodding towards the bathroom.

Sam began to rummage in his duffle. After a few minutes fruitless searching, he turned in bewilderment to his older brother. "Dean, where are my pjs?"

Dean looked blank for a moment, before his brother's question sank in. "Adult you sleeps in sweats and a t-shirt, not pyjamas." He reached over Sam's shoulder and pulled out the afore-mentioned items. "Here you go."

Sam grinned in thanks, flashing his dimples, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dean typed the word "warlock" into the search engine and pressed enter. A moment later he looked up in surprise at the closed bathroom door. That wasn't the sound of the shower…Sam was running the bath! Of course, 8 year old Sammy never took showers. Dean grinned to himself, wondering how on earth his humungous sibling was going to fit comfortably in the tub.

Sam had loved baths when he was younger. He frequently used to read while soaking, which had resulted in a few soggy books over the years. Dean suspected that Sam dropped them in on purpose so that he could keep them, because it was always library books that went swimming and never his own. Libraries didn't like books that had been dried out and had crinkled pages, but Sam didn't mind them as they were still perfectly readable. However, when Sam had hit his final growth spurt at eighteen, it had become impossible for him to fit with any degree of comfort into the tub and had woefully swapped all his bathing experiences for showers.

"Err, Dean?" came a query from the bathroom.

"Yeah, Sammy? What's up?" chuckled Dean, convinced that Sam was going to say something about the size of the tub.

"Do we have any bubble bath?"

Dean did a double take and then had to choke down a laugh before replying. "Err, no, Sammy. Sorry, we're all out of that at the moment."

It was nearly quarter to twelve when Dean's cell phone rang. Sam was sprawled on his bed watching a TV channel that was showing comedy re-runs. Knowing it was past the watershed time of 9 o'clock, Dean had been extremely careful to choose a channel where there would be no chance of anything with any adult themes being shown. The thought of innocent eight-year-old Sam witnessing anything like that made him shudder!

Dean looked up from the laptop, where he had been alternating between researching warlocks and amnesia for the last couple of hours. The caller ID said "Bobby" and he flipped open the phone.

"Hi, Bobby! Any news?"

"Just thought I'd call and let you know I've got the medical tests set up. Doctor Monroe is the niece of a hunter friend of mine, so I've been able to make her aware of the whole situation. What time will you be here tomorrow? I've arranged for the tests to be the day after if that's okay? Figured you'd wanna get Sam sorted ASAP."

"Yeah, Bobby. Thanks. We should be there by lunchtime….if we don't have to make any more unscheduled stops that is."

"Unscheduled stops? What do you mean?"

Before Dean could reply, a commercial came on and Sam looked up from the TV. "Is that Uncle Bobby? Tell him I say Hi!"

"Errr, Bobby, Sam says Hi."

"Oh, he does does he?" replied Bobby gruffly, inwardly pleased that the younger Winchester had acknowledged him. He couldn't believe the soft spot that he had for those two boys – they were the only chink in his infallible armour. "Tell him I say Hi back."

Dean rolled his eyes in amusement. "Sammy, Bobby says Hi back."

He was then distracted by a snort on the other end of the phone. "Bobby?" he questioned.

"I was just thinking it's a good thing that that's not really eight-year-old Sam 'cause have you seen what time it is? Do you remember what Sam was like as a kid when he was tired and hadn't had enough sleep? I remember him having a full on tantrum in that diner one time when he was nine." Bobby sounded amused as he reminisced.

Dean looked over at Sam, who was laughing quietly at something that had just happened on the screen. Sam had needed a good ten hours sleep a night when he had been younger. In fact, when considering that fact, Dean found it amazing that his adult sasquatch of a sibling could now function so well on just a few hours a night.

The possibility that having a mental age of eight could mean he might need as much sleep as a real eight-year-old had never entered Dean's head.

"Surely not, Bobby. I mean come on, he's twenty-three."

"I hope for your sake you're right," replied the older hunter with a gruff laugh, "Anyway, I'll expect you tomorrow around lunchtime unless you let me know otherwise. Night Boys."

"Night, Bobby. See you tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:**** Sorry, guys, but there's a lot less brotherly fluffiness in this chapter – just lots of naughty, bratty Sammy. More fluffiness to come in later chapters!**

**Chapter 3:**

Dean's alarm went off at 6am in the morning. He had set it, knowing that they would need an early start in order to get to Bobby's for lunchtime and there were lots of things he needed to discuss with the older hunter. He sat up with a yawn and swung his legs out of bed. He looked over to the other bed and could easily make out the unmoving Sam-shaped lump under the covers.

"Hey, Sammy, it's time to wake up."

There was no response whatsoever from the other bed. Dean got up with a sigh and moved over to his sleeping sibling. He reached out and shook his shoulder gently. "Come on, rise and shine. It's time to get up, Sunshine."

"Go away," came the muttered response as Sam snuggled deeper into his covers.

"Uh-uh, Sammy, no can do. It's time to get up buddy-boy. Come on, you'll feel more awake once you're up."

"No."

Dean pondered his obstinate sibling for a moment before reverting to a tactic that he had used many times over the years – he yanked the covers off unceremoniously and dumped them on to the floor.

"Deeeeean," whined Sam, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his fists, before folding his arms and pouting up at his big brother.

Dean couldn't prevent himself from grinning at the picture this presented – Sam's lower lip was definitely protruding and with his sleep-mussed hair, he looked exactly like a sulky four-year-old.

"Up and at 'em, Tiger."

"But I'm tiiiired," replied Sam, "can't we set off later?"

"Nope, Bobby's expecting us. Anyway, you can sleep in the car."

"Don't wanna," sulked Sam.

Dean contemplated his little brother for a moment. He was beginning to think that maybe amnesia-afflicted Sam did need ten hours of sleep a night after all.

Hoping to cajole his brother out of his sulk and get the kid up without a direct confrontation, Dean deliberately changed the subject, "What do you want for breakfast? You can have anything you like."

Dean smiled inwardly as Sam scrambled out of bed and reached for his duffle. "Can I have pancakes again?"

"Course, kiddo, we'll go get 'em just as soon as you're ready."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a small diner. Dean had just placed their order – a full cooked English breakfast for him and pancakes for Sam – when his sibling spoke up.

"I've changed my mind, Dean, can I have waffles instead?"

"Course, Sammy," replied Dean, calling the waitress back to change the order.

Two minutes later Sam spoke up again. "Can I have bacon and eggs instead?"

"Are you sure, Sam? We can't keep changing our order. The waitress will be cursing us."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay then." Dean attracted the attention of a passing waitress by winking at her. He then relayed the change of order and she hurried off to the kitchen to let them know.

No sooner had the waitress entered the kitchen to pass on the message when Sam spoke again. "I don't want bacon and eggs, I want pancakes."

Dean was exasperated. "I'm not changing your order again, Sammy. You can have some pancakes tomorrow."

Sam folded his arms across his chest, his pout from earlier reappearing. "But you said I could have anything I wanted!"

"I did," replied Dean with a smirk, "and you said you _wanted_ bacon and eggs."

The glare that Sam gave Dean was withering, but Dean was unperturbed.

When their meals arrived however, Sam immediately pushed his away. "I don't want it."

"Come on, Sammy, you'll be hungry," coaxed Dean.

"I'm not hungry."

Dean sighed – his little brother was so stubborn! He knew that in his present stroppy mood, Sam would refuse to eat simply because he hadn't gotten his own way. Dean vowed silently that he'd never let the kid stay up late again!

"Have it your way, Sam, but don't come crying to me later when you're starving."

Sam's only reply was an indignant huff.

Half an hour later, they were back in the Impala. As Dean had predicted, Sam had not eaten a thing. Whereas yesterday, Sam had chattered away non-stop, today he was totally silent.

Dean knew that when Sam had been this way out when he _was_ a young child, their Dad would order his youngest to have a nap on the back seat, knowing that when he awoke, Sam would be back to his usual sunny, sweet, gentle self. Dean glanced across at the boy while he was driving, noting the large yawn that Sam tried to smother with his hand.

"Why don't you go to sleep for a while?"

"Cause I'm _not_ tired!" snapped Sam, not even bothering to look at Dean as he replied.

With a sigh, Dean gave up trying to talk to his brother, knowing that whatever he said, Sam would disagree on principle. If he said the grass was green, Sam would undoubtedly say it was red!

They had been travelling for just over an hour and a half, when Sam's stomach began to rumble. Dean knew that there was a large Walmart in the next town and decided he would stop there and get his younger brother some grub.

He glanced over at his brooding sibling, taking in his perpetual scowl and the way he was holding one arm across his stomach in an unsuccessful attempt to stop it from grumbling. Dean shook his head in exasperation. He knew his brother well - he knew that if he told Sam that he was stopping especially for him, the kid would kick up a fuss, because there was no way he would ever admit that Dean had been right earlier. No, Dean knew that the kid would go hungry rather than admit that his big brother had been right in his present mood. He really hoped that Sam would fall asleep soon, knowing that a long nap was the only cure for his present surly disposition.

When Dean pulled off the road into the Walmart car park, he finally got a reaction out of Sam.

"Why are we stopping, Dean?"

"Because I'm hungry and want some stuff to nibble on while I'm driving. You can get some snacks too if you want? And seeing as it's Walmart. I thought we might pick up a few other necessary supplies like pancakes, chocolate syrup, Lucky Charms and bubble bath…." Dean looked at Sam to see if the mention of these treats were improving the youngster's mood any. Sam's sulky expression remained firmly fixed in place.

"Can I stay in the car?"

"No, Sammy, I want you with me." There was no was no way Dean was going to let his humungous sibling out of his sight. Twenty-three year old Sam was perfectly capable of protecting himself, eight-year-old Sam wasn't!

"I'll be fine. I'll lock the doors."

"Uh-uh," replied Dean, shaking his head, "come on, out you get."

"No."

Dean contemplated his stubborn sibling, tempted for a moment to throttle him. Instead, he used his best John Winchester impersonation. "Samuel Winchester! Get your backside out of the car now!"

Sam didn't think, he just reacted automatically to that voice and was out of the car in less than a second.

Dean smirked, but was careful to turn away and hide it – if Sam knew that Dean was laughing at him, he knew it would only incense the boy further and he really wanted to avoid a scene if he could help it.

Sam reluctantly followed Dean towards the shop, muttering something under his breath about older brothers being bossy boots.

Inside the Walmart, it was like a maze. Dean sighed impatiently, knowing that they'd have to walk up and down the aisles in order to find what they were looking for. After wandering up and down a few aisles fruitlessly, he eventually found a wide selection of pancake toppings.

"Hey, Sam, do you want anything else besides the chocolate syrup?"

"I don't want anything," came the snarky reply.

Dean ignored Sam's response and popped a bottle of maple syrup as well as the chocolate into the shopping cart. It was when he turned the corner into the next aisle that he realised that Sam wasn't following him anymore.

For a moment, Dean's heart stopped – Sam was so vulnerable in his present state! He knew his brother wasn't just at risk from supernatural things, but would also be completely helpless against villains of the human variety as well. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself.

_Come on Winchester!_ he berated himself _get it together! The kid's probably just wandered off._

Sure enough, Dean found him a few aisles away examining some laptops on display.

"Sam!" Dean barked, the worry he had felt making his tone sharp, "You know better than to wander off without telling anyone where you're going."

Sam looked back at Dean sulkily, lower lip protruding. "I was just checking out these laptops…it's no big deal."

"If you wanna look at something, that's fine, as long as you let me know first. Otherwise you stay with me okay?" Dean tried again to placate his sibling, knowing that a direct confrontation would likely lead to an all-out temper tantrum.

Sam didn't respond.

"I mean it, Sam, you're to stay by my side." Dean pressed.

Sam's only response was a withering glare and a muttered, "I'm not a baby," which Dean chose to ignore.

Sam was fuming. He had been in a foul mood ever since he woke up that morning and absolutely everything was irritating him. The fact that he was now starving only made his temper worse. _I'll show him he's not my boss!_ he thought, deliberately waiting until Dean had set off pushing the cart before turning and setting off in the other direction.

When Dean realised a few aisles further on that his tall sibling had once again disappeared, he was furious. Having seen the look on Sam's face when he had instructed him to stay by his side, Dean had no doubt that this was a deliberate act of defiance. A stroppy, sulky, petulant Sam, Dean could cope with, but he refused to tolerate behaviour that could put his baby brother at risk – and wandering off on his own definitely put him at risk, especially considering what his Dad had hinted at just before he had died.

Dean found Sam in the toy aisle, holding an action figure in each hand.

"Samuel Winchester! What did I tell you?" snapped Dean, mimicking the authoritative tone of John Winchester to perfection.

Sam's head snapped up and he turned to Dean glowering. "You're not my boss! You can't tell me what to do!" Sam actually stamped his foot in temper before continuing, his voice gradually getting louder, "I'm not a baby. I can do what I want! So there!" As he finished speaking, he hurled both of the action figures that he was holding straight at Dean.

Dean didn't think, he just reacted, using his hunter's instincts to sidestep and duck at the same time, easily evading the flying toys. He abandoned the shopping cart and made it to Sam's side in a split second. He took hold of Sam's upper arm and in one smooth move turned the boy sideways before administering three hard, stinging slaps in quick succession to his jean-clad backside, stopping the tantrum instantly in its tracks.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Sam yelped and squirmed after each swat, trying to evade Dean's punishing hand. As soon as Dean released him, Sam turned his wounded puppy-dog look on full force, while gingerly rubbing his now painful, stinging rear end.

Dean studiously ignored the look. He walked back to the shopping cart and pointed instead to the floor beside him. "Here. Now, Sam." He waited until his now chastened sibling shuffled over and stood next to him as asked before continuing.

"I don't think you're a baby, Sam, but you are only a child and I can only keep you safe if I know where you are. And you said I can't tell you what to do, but whose orders do you have to listen to when Dad's not here?" asked Dean, even though the mere thought of his father was like plunging a knife into his heart.

"Yours," Sam spoke so quietly that Dean barely heard it. He was staring at his feet and wouldn't look up at Dean. In reality, he felt awful for throwing things at his big brother – what if they had hit him?

The rest of the shopping trip was completed without a hitch. Sam stayed obediently by Dean's side, although he remained quiet and didn't speak a word. At one point, just to amuse himself, and to test his little brother's compliance, Dean effectively retraced part of their previous route and if Sam noticed that Dean had just led them round in a pointless, big circle, he didn't comment.

It was when they arrived back at the Impala that Sam finally found his voice.

"You didn't have to hit me, Dean!" Sam accused.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I think I did. And besides, I didn't _hit _you, I _disciplined_ you. There's a difference."

"Well, you're not allowed to _discipline_ me. I'm gonna tell Dad!"

"Actually, Squirt, Dad gave me permission to discipline you when I turned fifteen. Because he started going on much longer hunts. He figured then that I was old enough and mature enough not to abuse the privilege."

"But that's not fair!" spluttered Sam indignantly.

"Dad made it perfectly fair…he told you to tell him if I doled out any punishments that weren't just and then he'd punish me! And anyway, would you really wanna tell Dad about your little tantrum back there?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut again, shaking his head. "So Dad honestly gave you permission to discipline me, huh?" Sam questioned quietly, not meeting Dean's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm telling the truth. He did."

"That sucks!"

"Tell me about it, kid. You really think I wanna whack your sorry backside?"

"Well it was sure more fun for you than me. It really hurt, Dean," he whined.

"Good! Maybe next time you'll think twice before misbehaving."

Sam scowled. "I can't believe you spanked me."

"Oh trust me, kiddo, that was no spanking, that was merely a couple of swats. Now if you wanna find out what a real spanking's like, just carry on being a brat." Dean tossed a bag of potato chips onto Sam's lap, hoping that if he didn't comment and force the issue, Sam would eat them of his own accord.

Dean hid a smile when his younger sibling immediately opened the bag and began to eat hungrily. He then handed Sam a can of soda and a chocolate bar without a word, before starting the Impala.

"Errr, thanks Dean," muttered Sam, looking sheepish.

"For what?" he asked, flashing the younger boy a grin, before turning his attention back to the road.

Dean looked over at his sleeping brother with a fond smile. He looked so childlike and pure with his features relaxed in sleep, one palm under the cheek that was resting on the window. _How he loved this kid!_

Sam had fallen asleep shortly after finishing his potato chips and Dean had heaved a sigh of relief. He hoped the kid would stay asleep right up until they reached Bobby's. With Sam in this state, all sorts of childhood memories were resurfacing for Dean. He tried desperately to block the ones that contained their Dad. Ordinarily, in order to distract himself, he would crank up the music in the Impala and sing along, but there was no way that he was going to risk Sam waking up when the kid so evidently needed sleep. Instead, he kept the radio off, and white-knuckled the steering wheel, consciously fighting off the memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

Sam started to stir twenty minutes out from Bobby's house. He had been asleep for nearly three hours.

"Hello, Sleepyhead," greeted Dean with a grin as twin hazel eyes blinked sleepily back at him.

"Hey, Dean, what time is it?" asked Sam with a yawn, trying to stretch as best he could in the cramped space of the front of the Impala.

"Nearly one, kiddo. We're not that far from Bobby's now."

Suddenly Sam remembered the events from earlier and blushed, dropping his gaze to his lap. "Uh, Dean? I'm really sorry about before. I know I behaved like a total…" he paused before saying the word, "…..brat. I was just really angry and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it, Sammy. I didn't take it personally – I knew you were tired. How're you feeling now?"

"Much better, thanks," replied Sam with a shy smile, flashing his dimples for the first time that day, as he fisted the sleep out of his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, they were engaged in a game of 'I spy', which had been suggested by Sam and who hadn't shut up once since he had awoken.

Dean smiled inwardly – it was hard to believe that the sweet kid sitting next to him was the same holy terror from earlier. No wonder their dad had always insisted that Sam get enough sleep!

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with A."

"Antelope," replied Dean immediately.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Duh, Dean there are definitely no antelopes in or on the car."

"Oh, are you sure?" After a few sensible guesses (and a few ridiculous ones!), Dean gave the correct answer of 'ashtray'.

"Okay, my turn. I spy with my little eye something beginning with B."

Sam turned around in his seat, scrutinising every inch of the car that he could see. "Umm…black paint?"

"Uh-uh."

"Buttons?"

"Nope."

"Bulb?"

"Guess again."

"Bumper?"

Dean shook his head, a mischievous grin lighting up his green eyes.

"Okay, I give up. What is it?"

"Bratty little brother."

"Hey!" protested Sam, punching Dean lightly on the arm, grinning in spite of himself, "You've got that wrong. It begins with A and stands for _**adorable**_ little brother."

"Oh, really?" teased Dean, taking the turn off that led to Singer's Salvage Yard, "Well, I'm sure _**adorable**_ little brothers always act as slaves for fantastic, amazing big brothers."

"Yeah, they do," agreed Sam, taking Dean completely by surprise. "But seeing as you're annoying and overbearing, not fantastic and amazing, I don't have to do anything for you," Sam snickered.

"Ha ha, very funny. I'm just gonna die laughing," Dean deadpanned.

Sam, realising where they were, suddenly leaned forward in excitement. "So Uncle Bobby's doctor's going to fix me, right?"

"Hopefully she'll help you get your memories back, yeah."

Bobby had heard the familiar roar of the Impala's engine and had come out onto the porch to greet them.

As soon as the car came to a standstill, Sam flung himself out and hurtled towards the man on the porch.

Bobby, seeing the six foot four, well-muscled young man flying towards him, instinctively took a step backwards.

On reaching the older hunter, Sam flung his arms around him, hugging tightly. "Hiyuh, Uncle Bobby."

Dean casually locked the Impala, openly chuckling at the stunned expression on his friend and father figure's face.

"Errr, hello, Sam," replied Bobby, patting the boy's back awkwardly.

Sam pulled out of the hug when he spotted Bobby's Rottweiler ambling towards them and immediately dropped to his knees to begin cuddling the dog.

"Hello, Boy! What's his name, Bobby?"

Bobby seemed to have temporarily lost his voice and stood there, staring in a bemused fashion at the boy on the floor with his arms around his supposed guard dog.

Dean took pity on his friend and stepped in. "His name's Buster, Sam."

"Cool! Hello, Buster. We can play together. Can he fetch?" This question was again directed at the older hunter.

Bobby, still speechless, managed to shake his head.

Dean spoke up, "Hey, Sammy, why don't you go inside and watch some TV while I help Bobby dish up lunch?"

Sam nodded and literally ran through the front door and into the living room. Bobby simply stared after the whirlwind that was Sam.

"So what is for dinner, Old Timer?" prompted Dean, unable to keep the grin off his face at Bobby's reaction, "A certain someone hasn't eaten anything proper today, 'cause I don't think potato chips and chocolate count, and he needs feeding."

"Casserole," murmured Bobby absently, entering the house, but following Sam into the living room, rather than going to the kitchen.

Sam was already sprawled on the floor on his stomach, watching a strange cartoon that Bobby had never seen before that had something that looked like a yellow brick with arms and legs in it. As Sam broke into a fit of giggles over something that the yellow thing had done, Bobby finally looked up and met Dean's amused gaze.

"You can pick your jaw up off the floor now," said Dean dryly.

Bobby closed his mouth with a snap, before removing his cap momentarily and running an agitated hand over his head. "He's eight."

Dean rolled his eyes in amusement. "We already knew that, can you tell me something I don't know?"

"No, I mean he's really freakin' eight! Knowing that hypothetically is one thing but seeing it…..him…..it's…." Bobby struggled to voice what he was thinking.

"Cute, aint he?" smirked Dean, watching the totally flabbergasted older hunter with amusement.

After lunch, Sam went outside to play with Buster, under strict instructions to remain in the boundary of the yard at all times. Dean knew that the number of sigils and wards that Bobby had in place would ensure that no demons could enter and he figured that Buster would provide adequate protection from any human threats.

"So what have you found, Bobby?" asked Dean, once Sam was safely outside and there was no danger of him overhearing, "Sam doesn't know it could be a curse, he just thinks he's got amnesia."

A sudden thought struck the older hunter. "We're gonna have to be darn careful what we say in front of him, Dean. He won't know about hunting. If you remember, your Daddy didn't tell him until he was nearly ten, when he was petrified there was something in his closet."

Dean looked sheepish. "Errr, Bobby, Sam does know about hunting…."

"What the blazes, Boy! You mean to tell me you've slipped up already!" fear for the youngest Winchester's frame of mind made his tone harsh.

"No, I didn't slip up. Sam really did know about hunting when he was eight. He took Dad's journal and read it you see. He asked me if it was true. What was I supposed to say? That Dad was a nutcase? I wanted so much to protect him from all this." Agitation was evident in Dean's voice.

"Sorry for jumping to conclusions, son. I know you'd never do anything to intentionally hurt your brother. You two deserve a medal for slipping that past your old man though," he whistled, "Nothing much got past John Winchester without him knowing!"

"It's okay, Bobby. I really regretted telling him it was true at first, even though I knew it was only a matter of time before Dad would tell him anyway, because he had such horrific nightmares for months afterwards." Dean's eyes suddenly widened and his mouth tightened into a worried line.

"What is it, Dean?" asked Bobby with concern, taking in his friend's now agitated façade.

"It's June now, right? But to Sam it's like the end of January, beginning of February, because to him, my birthday was only last week. And he read the journal on Christmas Eve, so he's only known that monsters, demons and any other fugly thing you can think of really exist for just over a month."

"Ah, so nightmares are a definite possibility then? Don't worry, we'll be there for him," Bobby caught on to Dean's line of reasoning immediately, "I remember your Daddy mentioning those nightmares, he was quite worried about Sam at the time actually. He thought you were letting him watch age-inappropriate horror films."

"Tell me about it," replied Dean with a snort, "It took me ages to convince him I wasn't! So then he decided to vet Sammy's reading material instead. Sam wasn't impressed! 'Cause he was such a good reader, he was reading the 12 years plus books and Dad banned him from them, thinking that the content was too mature and was scaring him."

Bobby chuckled. "Yeah, and I suppose he couldn't give the real reason for his nightmares without getting into a shed-load of trouble!"

"You can say that again and I'd have got it in the neck too, for telling him it was true." Dean glanced out of the window, watching as Sam threw a ball for Buster, which the dog totally ignored. In that rare, unguarded moment, Dean's face was an open book.

Bobby felt a lump rise unbidden in his throat – the love and devotion for his baby brother was clearly evident. Bobby had no doubt at all about the lengths that Dean would go to in order to protect Sam. He was as single-minded and overprotective as a she bear, willing to sacrifice themselves for their young.

When Dean turned back to Bobby, his mask was firmly back in place.

"So did you find anything useful?"

"Not much," admitted Bobby ruefully, "Warlock lore is hard to come by and what you do find isn't necessarily legitimate. I have found some general counter curses though, but can't try them out until we know for definite that it _is _a curse. What about you?"

"Well, my search threw up about a million role playing game opportunities, some wizarding figurines, costumes for hire….oh, and also some academic essays on Harry Potter!"

That evening, when the clock struck half past eight, Dean cleared his throat and looked over at Sam, who was curled up on the sofa reading one of his new books.

"Okay, Sammy, bedtime."

"Do I have to? You let me stay up last night."

"Yeah, but last night I forgot you were eight. Tonight, I've remembered."

With an exaggerated sigh, Sam closed his book and stood up. He went over to Bobby and kissed the startled hunter on the cheek. "Night, Bobby. Night, Dean." He then set off upstairs to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

"Errr, night, Sam. Sleep well!" Bobby called after him, unconsciously fingering his cheek where Sam had kissed him.

Dean watched his brother's retreat nonplussed. He had been expecting to have a fight on his hands, expecting him to react like his twenty-three year old brother would when asked to do something that he didn't want to do, especially considering that he had allowed the kid to stay up the night before.

He hadn't anticipated the meek acquiescence at all, but then Dean remembered that eight-year-old Sam always complied with bedtime regulations as he knew the consequences first-hand of not doing so.

Dean remembered back to the occasion just before Sam's seventh birthday.

_It was the first time in over 9 months that John had left Dean to care for his little brother overnight since the shtriga attack. Dean had been desperate to prove himself worthy of his father's renewed trust. John had never said anything to Dean about that night, but the young boy had convinced himself that his father no longer trusted him. _

_Sam however had been a total nuisance when it came to bedtime though and had refused point blank to go to bed. Dean had threatened to tell their father when he returned from his 'business trip', but a mutinous Sammy had called his bluff. Dean was torn – he seriously didn't want to rat on the kid and get him into trouble, but on the other hand it was fundamental to Dean's psyche that he regain his father's total trust and he knew his Dad would expect him to report his baby brother's misbehaviour. And what if Sam refused to go to bed every time their father was away? _

_The next day, when John had returned, Dean was still undecided about what to do. John had asked if everything had been okay in his absence and Dean's slight hesitation before answering had alerted the patriarch to the fact that all was not well. John had merely changed the phrasing of his original question to: "Report, Dean," making it an order. After the shtriga incident, Dean had vowed never to disobey a direct order again and so he had reluctantly told his Dad about the bedtime fiasco. The result had been a soundly smacked bottom for Sammy, but on the plus side, the kid had never given Dean any grief about bedtime curfews again._

Half an hour later, when Dean went up to check on Sam, he smiled at seeing his gargantuan sibling sprawled across his bed, fast asleep. He moved over to the bedside and gently carded his fingers through the sleeping boy's bangs.

"Night, Sammy. Love you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's notes:** **I apologise for my inaccurate portrayal of medical procedures – I only have a first aid certificate and made up the rest to fit the story! This chapter kind of took on a life of its own and has ended up way longer than I intended. **

**Chapter 4:**

Bobby entered the kitchen from his study to find Dean busy mixing something in a jug.

"Morning, Bobby," muttered the eldest Winchester, attention firmly fixed on what he was doing.

"Morning. Sam not up yet?"

"Nope, still sleeping like a babe." It was going to take some getting used to, waking up before his sibling. As adults, Sam was always the early riser.

Bobby watched curiously for another couple of minutes, but when Dean didn't offer any explanation for what he was doing, curiosity finally got the better of him. "What in the blazes are you doing, Boy?"

Dean turned startled, a grin lighting up his handsome features. "Making pancakes for Sam. Do you want some?"

Bobby looked at Dean like he had lost his mind. "Wouldn't it be quicker and easier to just give the kid cereal? I noticed you came armed with Lucky Charms yesterday."

"Yeah, it would," agreed Dean with a sigh, "but I kinda promised him yesterday that he could have pancakes today and being an awesome big brother, I didn't wanna disappoint."

Bobby rolled his eyes and was about to reply when a yawning Sam appeared in the doorway.

"Morning," muttered Sam, fisting the sleep out of his eyes. Bobby eyed the tall young man, trying to keep the amused grin off his face. Sam had evidently not brushed his hair yet and it was sticking out in all directions.

Dean turned to greet his younger sibling. He too eyed the state of Sam's hair as the boy seated himself at the table, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Morning, Sammykins. Sleep well? I'm making you some pancakes…..oh, and if you say you've changed your mind and don't want 'em, I'm going to throttle you."

Sam looked sheepish for a moment, before grinning up at his brother, a look of wide-eyed innocence plastered on his face. "Would I do something like that, Dean?"

Dean snorted.

Bobby watched this exchange, puzzled. He was evidently missing something here.

"What are you two idjits on about?"

"Nothing!" they replied in perfect unison, both of them grinning now.

Bobby shook his head. "Now if you believe that, you'll believe anything. I'll bet you've been up to no good!" he replied gruffly. The older hunter couldn't believe the difference it made to his life whenever they came to stay. He still couldn't figure out how the two Winchester boys had managed to wangle their way under his stalwart defences and make him care about them so much.

Dean poured some of the mixture from the jug into the frying pan. A few minutes later, he rummaged around in Bobby's drawer for a spatula to turn it over.

"Can't you toss it, Boy?"

"No he can't, Bobby," laughed Sam, "he tried about a month ago and every single one ended up on the floor."

Dean felt himself flush, even though the incident that Sam was referring to had happened over 15 years ago. "Yeah, well, pipsqueak, I'd like to see you try!"

Another thought struck Sam and he began to laugh even harder. "You're an adult now though and you _still_ can't toss 'em."

Sam's innocent, childlike mirth was infectious and Bobby found himself beginning to chuckle. Dean too started to struggle to keep a grin off his face. What Sam said next however wiped both smiles immediately off their faces.

"When Dad gets back from hunting the cockatrice, instead of getting him to teach you about hunting, you should get him to teach you about tossing pancakes," he giggled.

Dean managed by some miracle to immediately replace his real, faltering grin with a wide fake one, before Sam noticed that there was anything wrong. He felt his heart constrict and for a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He concentrated on catching Bobby's eye – giving his friend an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

The older hunter had physically stiffened at Sam's pronouncement. With his hunter's instincts however, he immediately picked up on Dean's minute signal and forced himself into a more relaxed posture. Bobby's mind was in a whirl – _how could he have been so daft as to not have realised earlier that Sam wouldn't remember his father's death? Not that that was necessarily a bad thing altogether, seeing as Sam had been the one to find him on the hospital floor and had been drowning in guilt ever since, over his broken relationship with the man._

Half an hour later, Bobby pushed his plate away with a satisfied sigh.

"They were actually really good, Dean. I'll let you in my kitchen again"

"Hey, no need to sound surprised, Old Man. I'll have you know that Dean Winchester is a man of many talents!"

"Yeah, useless ones!" said Sam with a mischievous smirk.

"Fine, Sammy-boy, no pancakes for you next time!" Dean pretended to glare at Sam, but then couldn't keep the grin off his face, seeing the chocolate sauce coating his younger brother's chin. "Looks like you're growing a chocolate beard there, kiddo."

Sam quickly and self-consciously wiped the offending chocolate syrup from around his mouth with the back of his hand.

This had reminded Dean that there was something he really needed to do, but it wasn't necessarily something he was looking forward to. In all of his years of helping his Dad to bring up Sam, he had never ever had to do this for his baby brother, but there was no way he would let the eight-year-old attempt it himself!

"Sammy, when you've had your errr…bath and got dressed, will you call me? 'Cause I'm gonnna have to give you a shave."

"A shave?" Sam's eyes widened at the thought and his hands went automatically to his face. He could easily feel the stubble there now and not liking the sensation, jerked his hands away. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Hey, could I grow a beard? Or a moustache? That'd be funny!"

Bobby gave a snort of laughter, which he quickly changed into a cough at the youngster's questioning glance.

Dean too was having difficulty keeping his face straight. "Sorry, Sammy, no you can't. Adult you would murder me if I let you do that….he likes his baby face just the way it is."

"Oh," said Sam, his face falling a little. Then suddenly it brightened. "Did you get some bubble bath in Walmart?"

"Not that you deserved it, but yeah, I did," replied Dean, grinning and waving towards the Wamart bags that he had set on the side in the kitchen the day before."

Sam bounded over to the bags, quickly located the large blue bottle that he was searching for and darted up the stairs.

"Doesn't that boy ever walk?" asked Bobby, eyes following the disappearing Winchester.

"Apparently not anymore," replied Dean, shaking his head in amusement.

When Dean entered the bathroom just over half an hour later, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bath waiting for him. He had collected Sam's washbag from his duffle on his way past the bedroom and was busy rummaging in it for his brother's shaving kit.

"Okay, Sam, I'm just gonna put some shaving foam on you…."

"Can I do it?" asked Sam, not waiting for a reply, simply snatching the can from Dean's hand.

"Uh, sure." Dean grinned at the kid's enthusiasm, remembering from his own childhood days the forbidden fun of playing with his Dad's shaving cream.

When Sam had plastered his face with the white foam, he looked in the mirror and started to giggle. "Look, Dean! I look like Santa!"

Dean shook his head in amusement. _Dammit, the kid was adorable!_ He didn't remember ever thinking that Sam was this cute when he really was eight, but then he'd only been a child himself at the time and hadn't viewed him through an adult's eyes.

"Okay, Sam, I need you to hold still while I do this."

Sam nodded, but when he saw the razor coming towards his face, he automatically moved his head.

"Sorry, Dean, didn't mean to move."

"It's okay, buddy, just try hold still."

When Sam again flinched back, Dean immediately halted his hand's advance. There was no way he would chance cutting his brother by rushing him and running the risk of making the kid scared of shaving. Especially considering the fact that Dean knew that he would have to shave Sam until he was cured.

"Sorry, Dean. I can't help remembering what Dad said," muttered Sam, looking down, embarrassed.

Dean remembered all too well what their Dad had said about razors, as it had been entirely his fault.

_When Dean had been 10 and Sam 6, Dean had decided one day that he wanted to try shaving like his Dad. Sam had been in the bathroom with him, as he was going through a phase of dogging his older brother's every footstep. Their father had entered the room and caught him just as he made the first stroke with the razor. To this day, Dean didn't know how he had managed to do it, but he had jumped, startled when his father had opened the door and he succeeded in making an inch long gash across his cheek. Sam had totally panicked at the blood running down his brother's face and once John had patched up his eldest, he gave them both a stern talking to. Their Dad had told them in no uncertain terms that razors were very dangerous and that only adults had the ability to use them without injuring themselves._

"It's okay, Sammy. Dad was right, but you don't need to worry, 'cause I _am_ an adult and can use a razor properly. You trust me don't you? I'd never hurt you. Why don't you close your eyes…that might make it easier if you can't see it?"

Sam nodded and obediently closed his eyes. Dean noticed the kid's tense posture and the way he was gripping the edge of the bath with both hands. He sighed inwardly, hoping that once Sam realised that shaving didn't hurt, he would stop being afraid.

Five minutes later, the job was done and Dean instructed the younger boy to open his eyes and rinse his face. The relief that he had come through the experience unscathed was evident on Sam's face.

"Now that wasn't so bad was it, Lil Bro?"

Sam shook his head. "It didn't hurt, it just kinda tickled."

A short while later, Bobby locked his front door and followed the Winchesters down the porch steps to the Impala. Bobby had offered to drive them in his truck, but Dean never passed up an opportunity to drive his baby.

The older hunter had been fully expecting to ride in the back, as it was the boys' car, so he was taken by surprise when Sam immediately scrambled into the backseat. Dean noticed Bobby's stunned look, but had immediately understood Sam's action. "We were brought up to respect our elders you know," teased Dean grinning, "and you're an adult while he's….well….sort of a child."

The journey to the clinic in a neighbouring town passed quickly, mainly due to Sam chattering non-stop to the two men in the front seats. It was only when Bobby mentioned that they were nearly there that Sam became quiet. Dean glanced at the boy in the rear view mirror, immediately realising that something was wrong. Sam was chewing his nail nervously and had also begun to fidget anxiously.

Dean winked at Bobby, hoping the older man would follow his lead.

"You said Dr Monroe is fantastic didn't you? That she's really kind?"

Bobby caught on immediately. "Yeah, she's amazing, not scary at all. Everyone loves her."

Dean glanced again at his younger brother. Sam was leaning forward, listening carefully to the conversation. Dean pretended to just notice him. "You okay back there Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Is Dr Monroe really nice?"

It was Bobby who answered. "Yeah, Sam, she is. I've known her for years. I promise you'll love her."

It was half past ten when Dean finally pulled into the car park belonging to the luxurious private health clinic. He surveyed the sprawling grey buildings set amongst luscious green lawns and whistled. "Wow, Bobby, treatment here must cost a fortune!"

"Oh, trust me, it does….it's a good thing we're not paying!" chuckled the older hunter, "It's state-of-the art, which is to our advantage, because they have all the equipment based here to run the tests. If it was an ordinary clinic, Sam would have had to have had some of the tests performed at hospital."

Dean could tell that his sibling was still nervous as they entered the reception building. Sam stuck to his side like glue, his expressive hazel eyes wide as he looked around. Bobby signed them in at the front desk, while the boys seated themselves in the main waiting room. There were already about a dozen affluent looking people sitting there. Dean felt decidedly underdressed in his jeans and jacket, next to their pristine suits and dresses. They didn't have to wait long, before a nurse showed them to Dr Monroe's private office, telling them that the doctor would be with them shortly.

The office was enormous. There was a large, luxurious leather sofa against one wall and they sat on it while they waited. Dean felt something sliding into his hand, which was resting on his lap and looked down. Sam had slipped his own hand into his big brother's and was now holding it tightly.

"I'm scared, Dean. What if the tests hurt?"

Dean was eternally grateful that his baby brother hadn't decided to hold his hand in the public waiting room, because there was no way that he would have denied him the comfort that he so obviously needed. If that had happened, everyone would have understandably thought that they were gay, as he wouldn't have pulled away.

Dean squeezed Sam's hand back reassuringly. "No, don't worry, they won't hurt, Sammy," he soothed, hoping against hope that he was right. In reality, he had no idea what kind of tests they were going to perform on his brother.

Sam leaned against his brother, needing the physical comfort and reassurance that he provided. Dean immediately placed his free arm, which wasn't holding the boy's hand, around his shoulders.

At that moment, Dr Monroe entered the room. "Good Morning. Sorry to keep you waiting." She strode forward and hugged Bobby, before shaking hands with Dean and then offering her hand to Sam.

Dean, ever the connoisseur of women, eyed her appreciatively. He gauged her to be about 35 and decided she would definitely be considered pretty. Her brunette hair was tied in a sensible knot at the back of her neck, but he could just picture it flowing loose over her shoulders. Her figure was slim and her…..Dean's musings were cut short by an elbow in the ribs from Bobby. The older hunter had seen Dean's expression and guessed correctly the track that his mind was taking.

Dean grinned sheepishly and focussed again on Sam, his main priority. Anyway, he had noticed the ring – she was married.

After asking Sam a number of basic questions such as his full name, his age and his birthdate, Dr Monroe gave him a piece of paper and asked him to use the whole space to draw the best man that he could draw. While Sam was drawing, she motioned Bobby and Dean over to the other side of the large office so that Sam would not overhear.

"Okay, in order to ascertain if Sam has amnesia and what type, we're going to run two different types of tests. This morning, we're going to run physical tests and after lunch psychological ones. What Sam's doing now is actually a basic developmental test."

"How can drawing a man tell you anything?" asked Dean sceptically.

"It can tell you quite a lot Mr Winchester, you'd be surprised. When I look at it, for a start, I can begin to determine his spatial awareness developmental level by the size and placement of the picture. Then, I can also assess his cognitive understanding by analysing how much detail he has included, for example has he portrayed the correct number of fingers on each hand, has he included eye-brows? Things like that."

Dean snorted. "Even as an adult, Sam is totally useless at drawing, so I wish you luck evaluating his picture, Doctor."

"What kind of physical tests are you going to do this morning?" asked Bobby.

"We're going to start off with a skull x-ray and a brain scan. We'll then hook him up to an electrode machine that will record the electrical signals from his brain as he is introduced to different stimuli."

"Exactly what kind of stimuli?" questioned Dean, adamant that he wouldn't let his brother be subjected to anything traumatic.

Dr Monroe smiled at the obvious protective streak in the older brother – Bobby had forewarned her of this. "Nothing detrimental to his well-being I assure you. He will be shown pictures and asked questions about them. We will also ask him to recount some personal experiences and also give him some hypothetical situations and ask him what he would do. After all these tests are done, the last thing we will do before lunch is take him to the physiotherapy centre and assess his muscle co-ordination and control, because as I'm sure you're aware, it's our brain that controls all our movements. Does that sound all right to you Mr Winchester?"

Dean nodded and then looked up as Sam scrambled to his feet on the other side of the room waving his finished picture.

"Dean! You're a man now, so I drew you. You wanna see?"

"Errr, sure thing, kiddo."

Sam shoved his picture in front of his brother's face. Dean unconsciously grimaced, but luckily Sam didn't notice. The 'man' in the picture looked like an ogre. It had four lumpy things sticking out that Dean supposed could be some kind of deformed limbs. The head was a strange shape and didn't appear to have any hair. Its features were unclear and just seemed to be a random selection of circles and lines. Dean tilted his head to the side and decided that from that angle, the face looked like a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

Bobby leaned forward to look at the picture over the eldest Winchester's shoulder. "Wow, Dean," he smirked, "It looks just like you!"

"Yeah it does, doesn't it," smiled Sam, really proud of his picture.

Dean turned and scowled at Bobby, who was trying hard not to laugh, before turning back to his brother with a wide fake smile. "It's lovely, Sammy. You're a great artist!"

The younger boy beamed at the praise, before handing his masterpiece over to the doctor.

Ten minutes later, Dr Monroe took hold of Sam's hand and led him towards the door. She had explained to the boy in child-speak what tests they would be running on him and had reassured him that none of them would hurt. Sam turned back at the door and looked at Dean nervously.

"I'll be waiting right here for you, Tiger. I promise."

Sam nodded and gave a little wave, before allowing the doctor to lead him out of the room and towards the x-ray department.

No sooner had Sam departed than Dean began to pace anxiously.

Bobby sighed and shook his head. "He's gonna be just fine, Dean. You'll see. Doctor Monroe will win him over in no time."

When lunchtime rolled around (which seemed to have taken forever for the worried big brother), it seemed that Bobby had been right. The doctor had returned Sam to them in the office sporting a sticker that said 'I've Been Brave' and sucking a lollypop and he informed them happily that he would get another sticker and lollypop in the afternoon if he was just as brave then. Sam then hadn't shut up about the 'lovely' doctor and how she'd helped him with all of the tests all through lunch, which they ate in the clinic's spacious cafeteria.

Dean grinned at his brother's enthusiasm. He was extremely relieved that he hadn't been distressed by any of the tests so far.

"You know Sammy, you've been going on about Doctor Monroe so much, I think you've got a crush on her." Dean teased.

The way that Sam blushed told Dean that he had in fact hit the nail on the head. "Shut up!" muttered Sam, "I do not! Girls are stupid."

"Whatever you say, Sam," grinned Dean.

After lunch, they returned to the doctor's office and Doctor Monroe immediately led them down the corridor to the end where there were two doors. She led them through the left-hand door and into a room that contained a large sofa and two chairs at one end and a table and a play area at the other. One of the walls was completely mirrored from floor to ceiling.

"Okay Sam, I want you to stay in here for a moment with your Uncle Bobby while I talk to your brother. You can play with the toys if you want."

"I can?" Sam's eyes lit up and he grabbed Bobby's hand and dragged the startled older hunter over to the large toy box before dropping onto the floor and beginning to investigate its contents.

Dr Monroe led Dean out of the room and through the adjacent right-hand door.

Dean took in the scene before him. "Two-way mirror?" he questioned. In this room there was only a table and a number of leather chairs. Through what looked like a window however, he could see Bobby and Sam as clear as day. Bobby had his arms full of toys, which Sam had obviously passed him to hold and was wearing a totally bemused expression on his face.

Dr Monroe nodded. "That room is often used for psychiatric evaluations as well as for interviewing abused children, as it's possible to view and analyse the proceedings without the patient being aware of it. I thought you and Bobby would like to watch from here as the remainder of the necessary tests, I can perform on Sam in that room."

"What tests are you going to do?" asked Dean, his eyes fixed on Sam, who was now flying a toy aeroplane around the room, sniggering when Bobby ducked, because Sam flew it rather close to his head.

"I'm going to test his cognitive, emotional and social developmental levels. I'll evaluate these through questioning, association games and some written tests. They should be finished in about two to two and a half hours and I will be able to give you the results about an hour after that, because I'll have to collate my findings. If you don't mind waiting that is."

Dean shook his head. "No, we don't mind. We'll definitely wait. We just wanna find out what's wrong with Sam so that we can fix it."

Dr Monroe nodded. "I can fully appreciate that. I'm going to go back into the other room now, so that I can begin the testing. I'll send Bobby in here with you."

Dean and Bobby watched as the doctor questioned Sam. There was a speaker feed into the 'observation' room, so they could hear the questions and Sam's responses, though neither hunter could begin to guess what these indicated about his mental well-being. Every so often, Sam would turn and wave at the mirror, as Dr Monroe had explained that his brother and uncle could see him through it. Twice now, Bobby had found himself unconsciously waving back, much to the amusement of Dean, as the boy couldn't possibly see them.

Two hours and fifteen minutes later, the tests were finally completed and the doctor took Bobby and Dean back into the mirrored room, where Sam was now sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys, sucking a lollypop and sporting a second sticker.

"I thought you might want to wait in here instead of my office, because the toys will keep young Sam from getting bored. I just need to examine his responses to the psych tests and will get back to you as soon as I can." Dr Monroe exited the room, her eyes already scanning the chart that she held.

Dean watched Sam mesmerised. He couldn't get over the picture that his six foot four brother made sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with toys. Dean hadn't seen Sam look so happy in a long time. His twin dimples were permanently on show as he played with a farm set.

"If it's gonna take a while to cure Sam, I suppose I'd better buy him some toys," murmured Dean to the older hunter next to him. Bobby's attention too was totally transfixed on the youngest Winchester.

Bobby unconsciously removed his cap and scratched his head, before a thought struck him. "Hey, Dean, you remember that box of toys that your Daddy left at my house for when you came to stay? Well I didn't throw it away when you boys grew up, so I reckon I might have put it in the attic."

"Really?" Precious childhood memories came flooding back and although Dean would rather die than admit it, he really would love to look in that box again!

Dean's musing was interrupted as Doctor Monroe re-entered the room. Dean tried to guess what kind of news she was bearing, but her face was a professional, friendly blank. At her request, Dean and Bobby followed her into the observation room next door so that they could talk privately, leaving Sam playing contentedly with the toys.

Dean realised that he was holding his breath while waiting for the doctor to speak and quietly exhaled.

"Mr Winchester, I can assure you in no uncertain terms that your brother does not have amnesia."

"He doesn't?"

"I'm positive. I know that medically and logically it is supposedly impossible, but there is no question that your brother _**is**_ eight. With the exception of his physical body that is. All of his brain wave patterns correspond to that of a child. Emotionally and socially he also has the developmental level of an eight-year-old. You see, an adult with amnesia would still respond in an adult fashion to given scenarios. Even if they would react differently than if they still had their memories – because our experiences help to shape us into the people we are – it would still be an _adult_ response. Sam however, consistently gave immature responses, that when I checked, tally exactly with a developmental age of eight. He scored slightly higher on the cognitive IQ tests, but that is because he is an incredibly bright eight-year-old. His level of muscle control and hand-eye co-ordination, also place him within the seven to nine years age bracket. So if you took Sam to the shooting range for example, he would only be as proficient as he was when he really was eight." The doctor paused, trying to gauge how the men before her were taking this news. "I'm really sorry, but as this isn't medical in nature, I have no idea how to help you."

For a moment, Dean said nothing. He turned, to look at Sam through the 'window', his thoughts in a whirl, before turning back to the doctor. "He's healthy though? The curse hasn't damaged his health?"

"No, your brother's as fit as a fiddle." The doctor was glad to be able to convey some positive news.

After thanking the doctor profusely for her time and the care she had shown Sam, the two older hunters re-entered the mirrored room.

Dean knew it was time to bite the bullet – he would have to tell Sam that he didn't have amnesia. _How would his baby brother react?_

Sam looked up when they came in. "Is Dr Monroe going to give me some medicine to make my memory come back?"

Dean sat down on the leather sofa and patted the spot next to him, indicating for Sam to come and sit down.

"Right, Sammy, I'm gonna tell you something, but you don't need to be scared or worried, okay?"

Sam's eyes went wide. "You're gonna tell me she can't fix my memories aren't you?"

"No, Sammy, she can't. Hey…." Dean reached out and squeezed his brother's thigh reassuringly, noticing the tears that had sprung to Sam's eyes, "don't worry, we _will_ fix you. It's just gonna take a little more time that's all, because you don't have amnesia."

Sam turned puzzled, watery eyes on Dean. "I don't? What's wrong with me then?"

Dean sighed before taking the plunge. "Well you know I told you that we hunt together?" Sam nodded. "The night you bumped your head, when you lost your memories, we were kind of hunting a warlock. It got the drop on us though, so me and Bobby think you've been cursed….that's kinda like a spell. So we just need to find a way to remove the spell and you'll be fine again."

"And I've already got some counter-curses lined up to try when we get home," put in Bobby gruffly.

"So you've got nothing at all to worry about, Sport," consoled Dean, pulling his brother in for a quick hug, "Big Brother's gotcha."

As soon as they reached Bobby's place, the older hunter set about making the necessary preparations for the counter-curses, while Sam went and sprawled in front of the TV to watch cartoons for a while.

Dean watched prudently. "Just what are you going to try, Bobby?"

"Well, I've dug up three general verbal counter curses – two in ancient Greek and one in Latin. I think we should try those first. And then if they don't work, I've got two more that require Sam to be stood inside a particular symbol – both of those are in ancient Hebrew."

"Then what's with all the ingredients?" asked Dean, eyebrows raised quizzically at all of the bottles and jars that Bobby was setting out, "Or are you secretly planning on becoming a chef?"

"Well, I did also find reference to two potions, so I went and bought the ingredients while you and your brother were travelling up here."

"Thanks, Bobby," murmured Dean, touched at the effort that Bobby had gone to on Sam's behalf.

"Get away with yah," grunted Bobby, embarrassed, but also pleased at Dean's words.

"Are you sure they're all safe? There's no risks involved?" Dean was not prepared to take any chances, no matter how slim.

"All perfectly safe, with no unpleasant side effects, with the exception of one of the potions – there's a very small chance that it can make you feel ever so slightly nauseous. So thought we'd save that one as a last resort."

An hour and a half later, after all of the counter-cursing remedies had been applied, Sam was still eight-years-old. It had taken promises to take him to the park the following afternoon to get Sam to drink the vile tasting potions, as well as three chocolate bars to take the taste away afterwards.

Dean glanced up at the clock. It was 8.20pm. In another 10 minutes, he'd send Sam up to bed. Sam had been incredibly quiet since the failed anti-cursing attempts earlier, but Dean figured the kid was just tired after a long, stressful day. He glanced over at the tall boy – Sam was lounging on the floor, his nose buried in a book and Dean noted with concern that he looked a little pale.

Dean knew it could just be fatigue that was causing his pallor, but he would never take any chances with his little brother.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam looked up from his book. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Why?"

"Nothing, just checking."

"Weirdo," teased Sam, grinning at his brother's overprotectiveness, before turning his attention back to his book.

It was less than five minutes later when out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his ginormous sibling literally leap to his feet and begin to dash across the room towards the kitchen, one hand clutched over his mouth.

"Sammy?" Dean was already rising to his feet, the ancient tome that had been on his lap, falling forgotten to the floor.

"Dean, gonna be s…" Sam's sentence was cut off as the boy vomited violently all over himself and the living room floor.

Sam looked down, mortified that he hadn't made it to the trashcan in the kitchen in time. "I'm really sorry, Bobby." He looked at the older hunter with chagrin, tears welling in his troubled hazel eyes.

Dean had reached Sam's side by this time and had already placed a supportive hand on his back.

Bobby was never comfortable dealing with tears and it looked like the youngest Winchester was about to cry. When the boys had stayed with him as children, he had continually been secretly relieved that Dean always took care of Sam when he was upset. However, the gruff hunter did his best to offer some comfort. "It's all right, Sam, you've got nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault, you couldn't help being sick."

Dean's attention was focussed solely on Sam, "It's okay, kiddo, I've gotcha. Think you're gonna hurl again?"

Sam shook his head wiping his hand across the back of his mouth. "I don't think so." He sniffed, glad that Bobby wasn't mad at him for ruining his carpet.

"Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up then, Tiger." As he led his brother towards the stairs, Dean angrily threw an accusing comment over his shoulder at Bobby, "So much for that dratted potion of yours _maybe_ making him feel _slightly_ nauseous!"

Once upstairs, he carefully sat Sam on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom and the boy began to slowly remove his vomit-covered clothes, tossing them into the bath. Dean left him for a moment and entered the bedroom to find a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt for the kid to sleep in.

He was just leaving the bedroom when he heard the retching. Dean hurried back to the bathroom to find his baby brother now kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, arms resting on the seat and puking up the remaining contents of his stomach.

"Whoa, easy there," soothed Dean, dropping to his knees beside the heaving boy and rubbing gentle circles on his back.

Soon, there was nothing left to throw up, but Sam continued to dry retch, unable to stop. Tears were streaming down his face and it felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.

Dean felt totally helpless, knowing he could do nothing to help except be there for his brother while he rode the bout of sickness out. He did place a damp washcloth on the back of the boy's neck, hoping to provide some relief and continued stroking his back and murmuring soothing words throughout.

Eventually, the heaving began to lessen and then thankfully came to an end. Sam collapsed back against Dean, exhausted. Dean wrapped his arms around his baby brother, pulling him back against his chest and giving him a moment to catch his breath.

"You'll be all right, Tiger. Big brother's gotcha."

Sam dropped his head onto his brother's shoulder. "I don't feel so good, Dean."

"I know, kiddo." Dean looked at Sam's now flushed complexion with concern - the pink in his cheeks standing out startlingly against the extreme pallor of the rest of his face. Dean placed one hand on Sam's forehead, inwardly cursing when he felt the heat radiating there. The kid had definitely developed a fever.

"Come on, let's finish getting you dressed and get you somewhere comfortable. Then maybe we can get some medicine in you and help you feel better." Dean quickly helped Sam to change into the clean sweats and t-shirt, surprised that Sam didn't show any embarrassment, before remembering that at eight, his brother hadn't yet developed his fiercely independent streak.

He then helped Sam to stand, his concern growing when the boy swayed on his feet. Moving slowly, Dean manoeuvred them both carefully down the stairs and got his brother settled on the sofa. Sam lay back and closed his eyes.

Bobby watched with concern. He had cleaned up the vomit from the floor, while the boys had both been upstairs. He was feeling incredibly guilty, convinced that he was responsible for the youngest Winchester's predicament. "Is he okay, Dean? Is there anything I can do?"

"He's stopped being sick for the moment, but he's running a fever. Will you watch him while I find a thermometer and check what children's medicines I've got?"

"Course," replied Bobby, moving over to Sam's side as Dean left the room, "Hey, son, how're you doing?"

"I don't feel well, Uncle Bobby. My stomach's hurting." Sam was curled in on himself, one arm clutched across his stomach.

Bobby patted the boy's arm awkwardly. "Don't you worry, Sam, Dean will take good care of you."

Dean paused in the doorway, watching the gruff hunter trying to comfort his brother. Dean cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology, Bobby, about what I said before. I'm sorry, this isn't your fault."

"Like hell it aint, Boy! Of course it's my fault! I made the darn potion didn't I?"

Dean shook his head. "No, Bobby, Sam's _my_ responsibility and I'm the one that told you to give it to him. So it's my fault!"

"There's more than enough blame to go around. Let's just say it's both our faults," suggested the older hunter gruffly.

"I can live with that," agreed Dean, moving over to the sofa and setting down the trashcan that he had brought through from the kitchen just in case.

"Sammy, I need to take your temperature, okay?"

Sam opened his eyes, squinting up at Dean before nodding. He obediently opened his mouth and allowed his brother to place the thermometer under his tongue.

"Dammit," muttered Dean when he removed it and checked the reading: 102. The kid's temperature was really high, not dangerously so, but Dean knew that he'd have to keep a close eye on it to ensure it didn't climb any higher.

"I'm cold, Dean," murmured Sam, beginning to shiver, "and my stomach hurts."

"I'll go get some blankets," offered Bobby, pleased to be of some use.

"It's okay, kiddo," soothed Dean, pouring out a dose of medicine. It was a pain reliever that would help with the cramps and also hopefully lower his temperature. Dean just hoped that the kid would be able to keep it down.

Sam obediently drank the proffered medicine and also took a few sips of water from the glass that his brother offered him. Dean was worried that with all of the vomiting that Sam could easily become dehydrated.

Bobby returned with the blankets and Dean tenderly tucked them around his brother. "You try and get some sleep now, okay Tiger?"

Sam nodded, but reached out and grasped Dean's wrist. "Please stay with me," the whispered plea was almost inaudible, but Dean, ever attuned to his baby brother's needs, heard it and responded.

"I'll be right here, Sammy." Dean seated himself on the edge of the sofa and Sam immediately curled around his back, needing the physical contact. Dean smiled comfortingly down at the boy, gently stroking his hair. A sick Sammy had always been a clingy Sammy.

Twenty minutes later, up came the medicine and the water. Sam sat dejectedly with the trashcan on his lap, Dean again rubbing soothing circles on his back. When the bout of sickness was over, Dean helped his brother to lay back down and covered him back up with the blankets. Hoping to distract Sam from how ill he was feeling, he picked up the book that Sam had been reading earlier and began to read to him.

A short while later, Sam clutched at his stomach and groaned as an extra sharp cramp assaulted him. Dean inwardly cursed that his brother had thrown up the painkillers he had taken, as he couldn't give any more without running the risk of overdosing as he didn't know how much had been absorbed by the boy's body before it was forcibly expelled.

He put down the book and reached out to smooth Sam's sweat-soaked bangs away from his face in a comforting gesture. He paused at the heat he felt there – _the kid felt even hotter than before!_

"Okay, Sammy, I just need to take your temperature again."

Sam meekly accepted the thermometer under his tongue, whimpering as another extra sharp cramp shot through him.

Dean swore out loud when he removed it and checked the reading: 103. He immediately stripped the covers off Sam, dumping them onto the floor.

"But I'm cold, Dean," complained Sam, trying to curl up into a foetal position.

"I know you are, Tiger, but you're running a high fever and I need to cool you down." Dean turned to Bobby, knowing that the hunter always had a supply of illicit drugs that he pilfered from local hospitals and clinics. "Do you have anything that doesn't interact with paracetamol and isn't taken orally?"

"I'll see what I can do," muttered the older hunter, with a concerned glance at the youngest Winchester before leaving the room.

Dean hoped against hope that Sam, with his advanced vocabulary, didn't know what 'orally' meant when he was eight, as the kid would undoubtedly put two and two together and he absolutely hated needles.

Dean attempted to soothe Sam by gently carding his fingers through the boy's hair until the older hunter returned. Sam however, immediately spotted the syringe in Bobby's hand.

"Uh, uh, Dean, I don't need it! I feel fine." Sam shook his head in denial and attempted to push himself into a sitting position. His arms were weak and trembling however and immediately gave way. Dean had to catch him in order to prevent his sibling from falling head-first off the sofa.

Dean lay him back down. "It's just gonna be a little prick, Sam and then you'll start to feel better."

Sam shook his head again, "I don't wanna."

"I know, Tiger. Do it for me okay? Just a little prick and it'll all be over."

Sam looked up into Dean's concerned face and reluctantly nodded his consent. _He would do it for Dean._

Bobby cleared his throat. "Err, Dean, you might wanna get a good hold on Sam's arm to keep it _**still**_, you know, while I put the needle in." Bobby hoped that by emphasizing the word 'still', Dean would realise that this meant that Sam would be anything other than still when he was injected.

Dean caught on immediately and glanced at the other hunter anxiously. Bobby quickly held up a box for Dean to see. Seeing the name of the drug, Dean inwardly cringed. Yeah, it would successfully deal with Sam's pain and lower his temperature and also had the added benefit of a sedative effect, which would enable the kid to get some sleep, but it would burn like hell when it was injected.

"Okay, Bobby." Dean shifted his position and leaned over Sam to grasp hold of his arm. This would allow Dean to effectively pin his brother down, using his own body weight.

Sam turned his head to the side, so that he wouldn't have to see.

Bobby cleaned the area and quickly inserted the needle. Sam flinched in response, but it was when Bobby pressed the plunger, pouring what felt like liquid fire into his arm, that he actually screamed.

Dean felt his brother's body buck against him and kept his full weight bearing down, concentrating on holding the arm that Sam was now frantically trying to yank free, still.

"Darn it! Hurry up, Bobby!" he gritted out.

Bobby quickly removed the needle, discarding it in the trashcan. "It'll stop hurting in a minute, Sam," he assured, feeling incredibly guilty at the obvious distress he had caused the boy.

Sam was now sobbing, clutching his abused upper arm with his other hand.

"I'm sorry, Tiger. It's all done now," murmured Dean, gently thumbing away Sam's tears.

"You s-said it'd just b-b-be a little p-prick," sobbed Sam, the betrayal he felt shining vividly in his tear-filled eyes.

Bobby decided to step in. He could handle being the villain of the piece, but he didn't want Sam to lose faith in his brother. "Dean didn't know it would hurt, Sam, so he was telling the truth. I knew it would hurt, but knew you needed it to make you better."

"That wasn't nice, Uncle Bobby," sniffed Sam, snuggling into Dean's chest, having transferred his displeasure onto the older hunter.

Dean put his arms around Sam, holding him close. He flashed Bobby a look of gratitude over his brother's tousled head. "You get some sleep now, okay kiddo?" He could see the boy's eyelids already beginning to droop.

Ten minutes later, Sam was out for the count. Dean looked down tenderly at his sleeping sibling, reaching down to wipe away the still damp tear tracks on his cheeks. It was a further twenty minutes after that, before Dean finally relinquished his hold on the boy and lay him back down gently on the sofa. He would have held him in his arms for longer still, if his brother's weight hadn't made them go completely dead.

After shaking his arms out and stretching them a few times, he slipped the thermometer back into Sam's mouth. The boy didn't stir from his medicated sleep. He was relieved to note that it now read 101 – he still had a temperature, but at least it had dropped lower. Dean picked up the blankets from the floor and covered the sleeping boy carefully with them.

Dean looked down at Sam, hating to see the boy suffering. He silently berated himself – _he should have found some way to prevent this!_

Bobby read the younger hunter's expression easily.

"You can't protect him from everything, Dean. You can't keep beating yourself up whenever anything happens to him. You always do the best you can, no-one could ask for more." Bobby knew without a doubt that Dean would gladly bear every single pain his brother experienced on his behalf if he could.

"Oh, yeah, is that so? Well my best isn't good enough! You do realise this is my fault? I didn't tell you the whole story about the warehouse…Sam was only cursed by the crystal because he was protecting _**me**_. He shoved me out of the way. It should have been me laying there."

"Now you listen to me, Boy!" said Bobby harshly, but trying to keep the volume down so that he didn't awaken the sleeping boy, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You're allowed to protect Sam, but he's not allowed to protect you? That's hardly fair! Anyway, it's a darn good thing it was Sam that was cursed and not you!"

Dean stared at Bobby in utter disbelief – _his surrogate father-figure __**wanted**__ Sam to get cursed?_ The disbelief quickly turned to anger. "How can you say that?" he seethed, "I thought you cared about him!"

Bobby, realising that he had been misunderstood, quickly tried to explain. "Course I care about him! You boys are family! You both mean more to me than anything else on this godforsaken Earth!" Bobby paused - he didn't like wearing his heart on his sleeve and making declarations like that. "But think about it, Dean….how would you be able to protect him from the demons if _you_ were eight years old?"

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously. Abruptly, he stood up, motioning for Bobby to follow him out of the room. Once in the kitchen, he whirled on the older hunter, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. "Okay, Bobby. Spill. What do you know about demons and Sam? Why would he need me? Twenty-three year old Sam is perfectly capable of protecting himself. Me and Dad made sure of that."

The older hunter met his gaze unwaveringly. "I know your Dad will have told you about your brother before he died. He probably told you more than he told me."

Dean's mind was doing somersaults – could his Dad have possibly told Bobby that he thought that Dean might have to kill his baby brother one day? No! He refused to even consider the idea – he _**would**_ save Sam! He _**had**_ to!

"What did he tell you, Bobby?"

"That demon being in Sam's nursery was no accident. It was there for a reason. It took years, but your Dad learned the demon had a specific plan for him and other children like him. At first your Dad didn't understand why Sam had been chosen, but then he started having those visions…." Bobby trailed off, eyeing the younger hunter warily. Dean looked like he wanted to punch something.

"Is that all?" Dean clenched his fists and concentrated hard on keeping them by his sides. He was absolutely incensed, but not Bobby, at his father. _How could his father have kept this from him, his own son, until he was on his deathbed, when Bobby had evidently been in the know for years?_

"That's all I know, Dean. The last I knew, your Dad was trying to find out exactly what the demon's plan entailed." Bobby watched as John's eldest physically deflated.

"He should have told me, Bobby! Didn't Dad trust me? How was I supposed to protect Sam when I never knew he was in danger?" Dean felt like a complete failure – _why else would his father not have told him, unless he hadn't thought that Dean was up to the task?_

"Have you told Sam?" asked Bobby quietly. He was desperate to make the younger hunter understand. He wanted to remove the anguish and torment shining in Dean's eyes. He knew that Dean's idiotic assumption that he had somehow been a let-down to the man he idolised was crushing him.

"Of course not!" snorted Dean.

"Why not?"

"Because I wanna protect the kid! I don't wanna upset him or worry him…." Dean trailed off, realising that he had fallen completely into Bobby's trap.

"Yeah, you idjit, and that's exactly why your old man didn't tell _you_….until he had to that is."

Dean was silent for a moment, digesting everything that his friend had disclosed. A soft whimper from the living room drew his attention, his own worries and concerns were instantaneously forgotten.

"Hey, Sammy," he murmured returning immediately to the living room and hurrying to his brother's side. Sam was thankfully still fast asleep.

Bobby had followed him into the room. "How's he doin'?"

"'Bout the same I reckon. I really can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I agree with you…it's better for Sam to be cursed in this instance than me." Dean turned and met Bobby's eyes, the intensity of his gaze, boring right into the older hunter's soul. "I've gotta protect him, Bobby!"

"And you will, Dean. Sam couldn't be in safer hands."

Dean seated himself on the edge of the sofa, twisting so that his back was resting against the arm. Even in sleep, Sam was aware of his brother's presence and shifted closer, snuggling against his side. Dean looped an arm across Sam's waist and looked back at Bobby.

"You might as well get some sleep. There's no point us both staying up."

Bobby knew it would be pointless to suggest that they take it in turns to watch over Sam, so that they could both get some sleep – there was no way Dean would get any shut-eye now until his sibling was well on the road to recovery.

"Okay, but you call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Will do."

Bobby paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Dean, there's another reason besides the protection issue why it's a good thing Sam was hit with the curse and not you."

"What's that?" queried Dean, looking puzzled.

"Sam wouldn't have a clue what to do with an eight-year-old you! He has absolutely no experience with kids."

"Errr, Bobby, sorry to blast a hole in your logic, but _I_ don't have any experience with kids either."

Bobby snorted. "You are a total dimwit at times, Dean Winchester. What do you call bringing up a baby brother from six months old? If that aint experience with kids, I don't know what is!"

Dean looked down at his sleeping brother. "I suppose I do have experience of looking after _one_ kid…..this kid." He felt a lump form in his throat – _how was it possible to love someone so much?_

As Bobby quietly made his way upstairs to bed, Dean dropped a tender kiss on Sam's forehead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Bobby came down at 6.30am to find Dean sitting on the floor, with his back resting against the sofa, perusing the leather-bound tome that he had been looking through the night before. Sam was presumably still asleep, as all that could be seen of him was the mop of tousled brown hair sticking out of the top of the blankets.

"How is he?" He nodded towards the lump on the sofa.

"His fever finally broke about an hour ago. He was awake at 3am for a short while, but he hasn't been sick again."

"If his fever's gone, why don't you go and get some sleep? You look like hell, Boy! I'll watch Sam." Even as he offered, he knew that the eldest Winchester would refuse.

"Thanks Bobby, but I wanna make sure he's okay when he wakes up. And then I'll need to get some food in him, 'cause he never wants to eat after he's been puking in case it makes him do it again."

Fort-five minutes later, Sam's sleepy hazel eyes blinked open and he pushed himself up to a sitting position, yawning.

"Morning, kiddo, how're you feeling?" Dean reached out and held his hand briefly against Sam's forehead, relieved to find it still cool.

"I feel fine now. My stomach's not hurting anymore and I don't feel sick."

"Good. I'm just gonna go make you some breakfast. I know you're not keen on porridge, but I wanna give you something bland just to give your stomach a proper chance to recover."

"I'm not hungry, Dean."

Dean had fully expected that answer. "You might be hungry by the time it's ready. Why don't you watch some TV in the meantime?" He flicked on the television and handed Sam the remote before exiting the room.

Twenty minutes later he returned with a steaming bowl of porridge.

Sam eyed the bowl warily. "Sorry Dean, I'm still not hungry. I don't want it."

"Sam you've got to eat," coaxed Dean, "The fever's made you weak and you need to get your strength back."

"But what if I puke again?" Sam's troubled gaze sought out Dean's.

"If you do, we'll deal with it. No problem. You've gotta eat again sometime, so it might as well be now."

Sam still hesitated, so Dean pulled out his ultimate weapon. "Come on, Sammy, do it for me." Dean wasn't aware of it, but he had his own set of puppy-dog eyes when needed and he turned these beseechingly on his baby brother.

Sam couldn't deny Dean anything when he looked at him like that. "Okay, I'll try it," he said, reluctantly taking the bowl from his brother, "but if I throw up, it's entirely your fault!"

Sam finished the porridge and half an hour later, he had kept it down. Much to his own and Dean's relief.

"Okay Sammy, up to bed with you."

"What?" spluttered Sam.

"The fever took a lot out of you, not to mention the fact that you were up well past your bedtime with all that puking you insisted on doing."

"But I feel fine, Dean! And anyway, you promised you'd take me to the park 'cause I drank the yukky potions Uncle Bobby made."

"Yeah I did, and if you humour me and have a nice long nap until lunchtime, I'll take you this afternoon."

Sam looked like he was about to argue, but Bobby spoke up before he could.

"Hey, Sam, come here." The older hunter gestured for Sam to come over to where he was seated in an armchair on the far side of the room.

Sam went, casting a disapproving glare at his older brother as he passed.

Bobby dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I need your help, Sam. That idjit brother of yours has been up all night and he's refusing to go to bed."

Sam turned and contemplated his brother for a moment. Dean did look tired – he was pale and dark circles were clearly visible under his eyes. He turned back to listen to Bobby "And he won't go, Sam, unless he's sure you're fully better. But if _you_ went to bed, he'd have no excuse not to get in his own, 'cause he'd wanna keep an eye on you and hopefully, he'll fall asleep."

The idea of tricking Dean appealed to Sam, besides which, he recognised that Dean was only in this state as he'd been looking after _him _all night.

"Okay Dean, I'll go to bed, but do I have to sleep straight away? Can I not read for a while?"

Dean was surprised at his suddenly compliant brother and wondered what on earth Bobby had said to him. "Sure you can read, Sam."

As Sam disappeared up the stairs, Bobby caught Dean's arm to prevent him from immediately following. "Now that Sam's fine I expect you to get a good few hours of shut-eye yourself," he said gruffly.

"I'm touched by your concern," teased Dean, following after his long-legged sibling, "I'll see what I can do."

"In the meanwhile, I'll put out feelers to some of my contacts and see if anyone has any suggestions about young Sam's problem," replied Bobby, making his way into the library.

Dean did indeed lie down and shut his eyes, but valiantly fought off sleep, waiting for the inevitable thunk. Ten minutes later, the expected noise was heard. He opened his eyes and glanced over to his brother's bed with a fond grin – the sound was caused by the book that the boy had been reading falling onto the floor. Sam was now fast asleep.

"Sweet dreams, kiddo," murmured Dean, settling down himself and finally giving in to the veil of sleep.

Bobby let the Winchesters sleep until 2.30pm before awakening them, figuring that sleep was more important than having lunch on time. Then, Sam had completely rushed his lunch, eager for the promised trip to the park to commence. The fact that he still had to wait for Bobby and Dean to finish hadn't crossed the impatient youngster's mind and he was literally bouncing from one foot to the other by the time they finally went out to the waiting Impala. The park was a short distance from Singer's Salvage Yard, so Dean drove them there.

Dean expertly parked the Impala and they entered the park through the wide main gates. It was a lovely sunny day and the park was full of other families and couples. As usual, Dean's eyes automatically scanned for any threats.

"Okay, Sammy, you don't have to stay right by us, but I do want you to make sure that either me or Bobby can see you at all times"

Sam rolled his eyes. "But Deeeeeean," he whined, "I'm not a baby and anyway, everyone will think I'm an adult, so they won't mess with me."

"Saaaaaaam." Dean mimicked Sam's whine to perfection . "You might look like an adult, but you're only eight-years-old, so I want you to stay where we can see you." _And rescue you if necessary! _"Understood?"

"And if I don't?" Sam challenged, folding his arms across his chest, lower lip jutting out.

Dean smiled grimly at his pouting sibling. "Why don't you try it and find out?"

Sam tried to stare his brother down, but in the end conceded defeat and dropped his gaze. "Fine!" he mumbled with a huff before literally stomping off in front.

"Well, you won that round," chuckled Bobby, "you do know he still huffs exactly like that at twenty-three when he doesn't get his way?"

Dean grinned. "You're telling me. I guess some things'll never change, huh."

Dean kept a close eye on his sulking little brother, not at all as confident as Bobby that he had indeed won this round, half expecting him to try and take himself off. He didn't want to spank the kid, but he would if he had to. However, after walking for five minutes, it was evident to Dean from his honed hunter's observational skills that Sam was indeed keeping tabs on the position of his surrogate uncle and brother.

The woodland trail that they were following was wild and overgrown. Sunlight filtered through the tree canopy overhead, creating a dappled pattern on the pebbled pathway.

Sam, who was moodily stomping a few feet ahead of his companions, caught a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye and went to investigate. He discovered that it was a fat, hairy yellow and black striped caterpillar. In his excitement, he immediately forgot that he was supposed to be sulking at Dean for treating him like a baby and grabbed the creature, before running over to show his brother.

"Dean! Look what I found. It's cool!"

Dean found something wiggly and hairy shoved in his face and involuntarily took a step backwards, before his eyes managed to focus on what it was.

"Errrr…very nice, Sammy." He was pleased to note that the petulant pout had been replaced by a wide grin.

"I wonder what it will turn into?" muttered Sam, peering closely at his prize.

Bobby was taken aback. Sam was an incredibly bright child. _How could he not know what it would turn into?_ "It'll turn into a butterfly, Sam. Caterpillars always do."

Sam shook his head. "No they don't, Bobby, some of them turn into moths. Hey, Dean do you think if I looked it up on that internet thingy I could find out?"

"Possibly. I'll let you go on the laptop when we get home if you want."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam scarpered off to carefully return the caterpillar to its bush.

Dean turned to Bobby, a teasing glint in his green eyes. "At least he didn't ask if he could bring it home. Fancy not knowing that caterpillars can turn into moths."

"Shut up, Boy," came the growled response.

Sam hadn't noticed the stares yet. Dean most certainly had and had cast more than a few withering glares in response. It was obvious to anyone watching that Sam wasn't acting like a 'normal' young man, with his gambolling to and fro, the way he was touching or picking things up, his enthusiasm and carefree laughter, they were putting two and two together and coming up with the answer that he was mentally retarded.

"Didn't anyone teach them it's bad manners to stare?" grumbled Bobby, alerting Dean to the fact that he had noticed as well.

"Obviously not." Dean had categorised the stares into 3 types: those that were just curious and evidently had nothing better to do with their lives than stare at people less fortunate than themselves, those that were sympathetic and felt sorry for his ginormous sibling and the worst kind, those (mainly teenagers) who thought it was funny and Dean wanted to punch the sniggers right off their faces!

Dean watched his brother - Sam just looked so happy! They'd been in the park for over an hour and a half now. They'd completed the woodland trail, visited the birdhouse and the rabbit enclosure and stopped for ice-cream, at Sam's insistence of course.

They were just approaching the duck-pond when Sam turned, seeking out his big brother to flash him a dimpled smile.

"Thanks for bringing me to the park. You're the best big brother ever!"

Dean felt a lump forming in his throat at Sam's words. He watched as the boy quickly climbed the fence surrounding the pond and seated himself precariously on it, before pulling the bag of breadcrumbs that Bobby had given him from his pocket.

Unbidden, a flood of memories rose to Dean's mind, but these weren't happy ones: _Sam at 9 looking in disbelief at the gun that his Dad had given him because he was afraid that there was something in his closet_, _Sam at 10 crying because their father was two days late back from a hunt and there had been no word from him, Sam at 12 angry and mutinous because he'd been banned from soccer practice to go bow hunting instead, Sam at 13 crying because they were moving yet again and for once they'd stayed in one place long enough for Sam to have made real friends, Sam at 12 vomiting violently after witnessing his first corpse being salted and burned, Sam at 14 sobbing his heart out while Dean had stitched up a badly wounded John, Sam at 11 leaning miserably against him completely exhausted after a particularly gruelling training session, Sam at 14 bleeding and in a state of emotional shock after his first hunt and from the age of 15 onwards, fight after fight between Sam and his Dad, ultimately ending with the final heart-breaking battle when Sam had left for Stanford._

Dean grimaced, consciously fighting back the memories that threatened to totally undo him. He glanced at Sam, who was talking animatedly to the ducks that were crowding round, eager to get at the breadcrumbs that he was scattering.

"It should always have been like this, Bobby."

The almost broken tone of Dean's voice made the older hunter turn immediately to his young companion in concern.

Dean wasn't looking at him, his gaze focussed solely on his baby brother on the fence, feeding the ducks. His usual composed mask had slipped, giving a rare glance at the emotions swimming underneath. Deep in Dean's green eyes, Bobby was shocked at the level of regret, self-recrimination and pain that he could see there.

The older hunter had no idea what the younger was thinking or what had brought this on. Having the feeling that Dean would really benefit from talking about this, but knowing how easily the eldest Winchester could clam up, Bobby didn't press him to continue, just waited quietly.

When the silence between them stretched indeterminably, Bobby came to the conclusion that Dean wasn't going to share. Unexpectedly, the younger hunter spoke up again.

"You know, as soon as Dad told Sam the truth about hunting, he stopped being his dad and started being his drill sergeant." Dean paused and Bobby said nothing, just waited for the younger hunter to continue. "Before that, Dad had to keep up a pretence of normality, so when he was home from his 'business trips', he'd play with Sam, take him to the cinema, the mall, the park like now, bowling…..you know, normal family stuff. But after that, well, it all changed. Instead of spending quality time with him, he exchanged the family outings for extra training or researching. I mean I know Dad did training with Sam before that, but the kid thought it was just for self-defence and fun, nothing too strenuous. But then it all changed, Bobby and it slowly choked him. He basically lost his Dad just before he turned ten and I did nothing to stop it. I didn't even realise at the time. I think I only realise now, because I'm seeing it through adult eyes. But I let him down, because I _should_ have realised…it's my job to look after him! I should have noticed and talked to Dad….I know he did the best he could, but looking after Sam was and is _my _responsibility."

This broken confession tore at Bobby's heart. _How could the boy blame himself for Sam's lost childhood?_ Though it didn't escape the older hunter's notice that he still defended his father's parenting – blaming himself, rather than John Winchester. It also saddened him deeply, because although Dean didn't realise it, when Sam had lost his father to a drill sergeant, he had in fact lost his father then too. Although the outings and the family facade had been for Sam's benefit, he too had participated in them.

Bobby couldn't keep quiet any longer. _Curse John Winchester for the burdens he had placed on his eldest's shoulders! _"Dean, listen to me, son….you say that your Dad did the best he could? Well so did you! You were only a child yourself, Dean. How could you have possibly realised the long-term implications of your Dad's hunting lifestyle on your brother? Anyway, your Dad may have stopped taking him places, but you stepped right up to the mark in his stead. Maybe he didn't go on family outings with your Dad anymore, he went with _you_ instead. I seem to recall you taking him ice-skating, to the zoo, trick-or-treating, swimming, to that darn street carnival where you twisted your ankle, kite-flying…. I could carry on this list forever you know!"

Dean finally turned to look at him. "I did try, Bobby." He glanced back at Sam and when he turned back to Bobby, the pain in his eyes was replaced with a firm resolve. "I'm gonna do it different this time! Until he gets cured, I'm gonna make sure we do stuff like this, just spending family time together. He deserves it more than anyone after missing out on his real childhood. I'm not stupid, I know I'll have to start training with him – I've gotta give him the best chance he can of defending himself – but I'm gonna make it fun, like Dad did before he told Sam the truth."

A loud splash erupted from the duck-pond. Both seasoned hunters were immediately on their feet and moving towards the sound. A moment later they halted, seeing that there was no danger. Sam was now knee-deep in the water, but he was laughing, so Dean relaxed, realising he was unhurt.

"Lose your balance there, Squirt? The idea was to stay _on _the fence, Sam," teased Dean, assuming that Sam had fallen in.

"I didn't fall in, Dean. I'm not that clumsy!" Sam managed to sound really indignant. "I jumped in…I'm paddling."

Dean just shook his head. Next to him, Bobby was shaking with laughter. "You'd better hope you dry out before we go home or you're walking! You are so not getting in my baby all wet."

Sam grinned back impishly, knowing full well that his brother wasn't serious.

When Sam finally got bored of his paddling, they turned and started back towards the main entrance of the park. None of them noticed that one of Sam's shoelaces had come undone. A short while later, the boy spotted a stone statue up ahead and took off at a run to go and look at it.

Time seemed to stand still, as Dean watched his baby brother take a head-first tumble onto the hard asphalt, having tripped over his loose shoelace.

Sam didn't immediately scramble to his feet embarrassed, as twenty-three year old Sam would have done, instead, he remained on the ground and burst into tears.

Dean was at his side in an instant, having sprinted the remaining distance between him and his brother. "Hey, Sammy, you okay?"

Sam shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. He held out his hands for Dean to see.

The palms of his hands were badly grazed as he'd automatically put them out to save himself when he fell, but they were nothing compared to the state of his bloodied knees. The force of his fall had torn the material covering both legs. Through the holes, Dean could see that the grazes were not only deep, but were also embedded with dirt and grit.

Bobby finally reached the Winchesters, having jogged the distance and not flat-out sprinted it like Dean. He took one look at Sam's injuries and held out his hands for the keys to the Impala. "I'll go get the first aid kit."

Dean tossed him the keys. "Thanks, Bobby." He turned back to Sam as the older hunter set off at a steady jog. "We'll get you sorted in no time, Tiger, don't worry. Think you can stand?"

Sam nodded and allowed Dean to pull him up before hobbling painfully over to a nearby bench. Dean knew from the state of the gazes that they had to hurt like hell. Sam's breath was hitching and tears still flowed uninterrupted down his face. Unable to administer any first aid until Bobby returned with the kit, he concentrated on comforting his brother. He rested a gentle hand on Sam's thigh and used the other to rub soothing circles on the boy's back. Under Dean's big-brotherly ministrations, his breathing soon returned to normal and his crying quietened to just occasional sniffles.

"Dean, I'm being stared at," murmured Sam looking down at his lap in chagrin, "They must think I'm a big baby 'cause adults aren't supposed to cry when they fall."

Dean's attention had been solely focussed on Sam. He now turned and caught at least half a dozen people openly staring. He glared at them before turning back to Sam. "You're not a baby, Sam, so ignore them. You won't remember this, but I fell over when I was fourteen and I bawled my eyes out."

"You did?" asked Sam, seeking reassurance. _If his amazingly brave big brother had cried at fourteen, maybe he didn't need to feel embarrassed about crying at eight._

"Yeah, I sure did. We'd gone hiking and I tripped over a rock. Served me right actually 'cause you tripped over a rock earlier and I laughed at you, but you didn't hurt yourself….I wasn't so lucky!"

Dean was pleased to see the ghost of a grin on Sam's face. The younger boy was relieved that his older brother didn't think he was a baby for crying and also amused that Dean had got his comeuppance for laughing at future him.

At that moment, Bobby reappeared armed with the first aid kit.

"Will you see to his hands, while I sort his knees?" asked Dean, giving the hardest job to himself. Bobby would only need to clean and dress Sam's hands. He on the other hand, would have to dig the dirt and grit out of the knee grazes.

Even though Dean was as gentle as possible, his ministrations understandably caused fresh tears to fall.

"Nearly done, Tiger," soothed Dean, trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of gravel with the antiseptic wipe, "you're being really brave."

Sam sniffed, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean, so that he didn't have to look at the blood. Bobby had already cleaned the grazes on his palms and he was now sporting two large sticking plasters.

"Here, Boy." Bobby handed Sam a tissue from his pocket. "Your brother's right you know, you are being incredibly brave. Heck, I'd wanna cry even now if that had happened to me!"

Sam smiled through his tears before blowing his nose on the tissue. "No you wouldn't Bobby, 'cause you're like the third bravest person I know."

"He's only the third? Who are the other two then?" asked Dean, wanting to keep his brother distracted from what he was doing to his knee.

"You and Dad of course," replied Sam as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Bobby snorted. "You're dense, Dean Winchester, if you didn't see that one coming!"

Soon, Sam was sporting matching sticking plasters on his knees and they set off again towards the park entrance. Sam was walking slowly and stiffly, as bending his knees was now decidedly uncomfortable.

Feeling really sorry for himself, he slipped his hand into Dean's as they walked along. For a split second, Dean froze, before squeezing Sam's hand back and continuing walking with his ginormous baby brother now in tow. Dean kept looking straight ahead, aware however that they were being stared at. He now actually hoped that the onlookers _did_ think that Sam was mentally retarded and not that he was gay!

Instead of being highly amused at the spectacle of the adult Winchesters holding hands in public as Bobby would have expected himself to feel, he felt moved and touched by the incredible lengths that Dean was prepared to go to for Sam. Here was wise-cracking, hard-assed, devil-may-care Dean willingly submitting himself to possible public ridicule if it would make his baby brother feel better. This was a side of Dean Winchester that did not exist unless he was with Sam.

Dean held Sam's hand all the way back to the car. "In you get, Tiger," he said, opening the back passenger door.

Sam hesitated before climbing in. "Uh, Dean, I know I fell over at the end, but before that I had loads of fun. Thanks for bringing me. Can we come again?"

"Course we can, Sammy."

Supernatural-Supernatural-Supernatural-Supernatural

After supper, Bobby disappeared upstairs, leaving the Winchesters watching TV. Ten minutes later, he returned carrying a large cardboard box. Sam's eyes lit up as soon as he saw it and an overpowering sense of nostalgia swept over Dean – it was their old toy box.

Bobby set it down on the floor. "It was in the attic like I thought."

Sam immediately pounced on it. Dean held back, watching his brother's eagerness with a smile, even though he was dying to look inside himself and unwrap the memories that it held.

Sam opened the lid and started emptying the contents onto the floor beside him.

Out came:

A monopoly game (Dean didn't know of any other eight-year-olds that liked that game, never mind understood the rules, but Sam had adored it).

A tub of green army men (Dean knew that one of these was still stuck in an ashtray in the Impala to this day).

A box of lego (Dean knew there were still a few of these rattling around in the Impala's air vents too – their Dad hadn't been very happy with that turn of events!).

Two colouring books (one Sam's and one Dean's) and some crayons.

Some wooden rail-track pieces and a toy train (Dean remembered the arguments he and Sam used to have about which way was best to build the track).

Some jigsaws (Dean had hated these, lacking the patience to complete them, but Sam had loved them).

Some toy cars (Dean had always wanted to play with the flashy racing car, while Sam always chose the police car).

A Rubix Cube (that even Sam had never been able to complete!).

A baseball mitt and baseball (Dean had many happy memories of their Dad playing this with them before he told Sam the truth about hunting)

And last of all, out of the box came a stuffed brown toy dog.

Seeing the stuffed dog reminded Dean of yet another time when he had failed as a big brother. _Right up until just after he turned eight, Sam had taken that stuffed dog (which he had called Digger) everywhere with him, he even slept with it. Then, after an unkind comment that someone had made at school about him being a baby for still sleeping with a stuffed animal, Sam had announced that he wasn't a little kid anymore and wouldn't sleep with Digger from then on. Dean had teased his little brother mercilessly, saying that he __**was**__ a baby and that there was no way he would last a single night without his beloved toy. That was the worst thing Dean could have said to a stubborn Sammy, because just to prove his big brother wrong, not only had he not slept with it again, but he had insisted on leaving it behind at Bobby's as well. Dean had been well aware how much the kid had missed his special toy in the weeks that followed and had kicked himself, but the damage had already been done._

Now, watching as his big-little Sam immediately grabbed the stuffed toy and sat it on his lap, Dean was determined not to fail his brother this time and didn't comment, pretending not to have noticed.

Sam picked up the tub of army men and turned to Dean. "Play with me?"

"Errr…." Dean looked over to Bobby for help. He couldn't remember _how_ to play – unless it was with a member of the female species that was!

Instead of helping, the grizzled hunter grinned and waved him towards Sam. "Go on, yah idjit, play with your brother."

Bobby looked up from the tome he was supposed to be reading for the umpteenth time. His attention was captivated by the picture of the two Winchesters sitting on the floor playing. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the Warlock lore he was reading, his eyes kept tracking back unbidden to the young men on the carpet. This time when he paused in his reading, Bobby listened to what they were saying.

"Okay, my front line move up and out of the ditch." Sam painstakingly moved a row of his toy soldiers one by one into their new position.

Dean moved three of his soldiers forward. "Right, your front row are now all dead. My snipers just shot 'em."

"No they didn't!"

"Yes they did."

"Didn't!"

"Did."

Bobby couldn't resist breaking into a grin at this exchange – he could easily picture a real eight-year-old Sam and a twelve-year-old Dean having this exact same conversation.

"But Deeeeeean, that's not fair," whined Sam.

"Why not?"

"'Cause they're not in the open, they're behind some bushes, so your snipers can't see them."

"What bushes?"

"Use your imagination, Dean!"

"Okay, Sammy I'll give it to you this time, they're not dead, but next time tell me if there are bushes beforehand."

Sam reached out and flicked Dean's three 'snipers' over with his finger. "My front row that are hidden behind the bushes just shot your snipers," he sniggered.

Bobby chuckled and turned back to the text he was reading.

A short while later, Dean glanced up at the clock. "Okay, kiddo, it's bedtime."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

Sam sighed, but didn't argue. He stood up and stretched.

"And just where do you think you're going?" put in Bobby gruffly, pointing to all the toys scattered on the floor, "you tidy those up first."

"Sorry, Bobby," muttered Sam, quickly putting the toys back into the box. He then walked over to his surrogate uncle and kissed his cheek as he had the first night. "Night Uncle Bobby. Night Dean."

After Sam had disappeared upstairs, Dean turned immediately to Bobby. "Any of your contacts got any useful info that can help Sam?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing concrete yet. They're all putting their own feelers out and I couldn't get hold of a few, so I left messages."

Both men then settled down for the evening drinking beer and scrutinising ancient texts for any references to Warlocks or their curses.

It was nearly midnight when they heard the scream from upstairs. Both men leapt to their feet, weapons drawn. On making it to the hallway, they spotted Sam stumbling from the bedroom. He was apparently physically unharmed, but appeared distraught.

Dean guessed immediately what must have happened. "Nightmare," he muttered to the older hunter next to him.

He instantly started up the stairs and Sam started down the stairs, causing them to meet in the middle. Dean wasn't quite expecting the reaction off Sam however and when his six foot four brother suddenly flung his arms around him, Dean was hard-pressed to prevent them both from tumbling head-first down the steps. He slipped one arm around Sam's back, holding him tightly to him, while gripping the banister for all he was worth with the other. He felt his arm muscles screaming at him, but by sheer willpower, he ignored their painful protests and kept them both upright.

Bobby held his breath, as he watched his surrogate nephews teetering on the stairs. Letting it out slowly, when he realised that Dean had somehow managed to regain his balance and was beginning to lead a trembling Sammy down the remaining steps.

"You okay, Sammy?" murmured Dean, one soothing hand on his younger brother's back while the other held his upper arm and guided him gently into the kitchen.

Sam was pale. His expressive hazel eyes were filled with fear and unshed tears. Besides the fact he was physically shaking, his breathing was also erratic. Sam just shook his head, not saying a word.

"I know a fantastic cure for nightmares," put in Bobby gruffly, "Hot chocolate! I'll make us some."

Dean cast a grateful glance at Bobby, before turning his attention back to his brother. "You wanna talk about it?"

Again, Sam shook his head. He was also biting his lower lip – a sure sign that he was trying hard not to cry.

Dean didn't press him, merely sat sown next to him and began to rub soothing circles on his back. Slowly, Sam's breathing returned to normal and his trembling stilled.

"I'm okay now, Dean," he murmured, just as Bobby returned with three steaming cups of hot chocolate.

Dean ceased his rubbing, but kept a supportive hand on Sam's back while they drank their hot chocolate. When they had finished, Bobby dumped their dirty mugs into the sink.

"Okay, kiddo, back to bed with you," said Dean standing up and hauling Sam to his feet with him.

Sam's eyes went wide and he looked pleadingly at his brother.

"Don't worry, Sammy, I'm coming up to bed too. I'll be right with you the whole time."

Sam immediately relaxed and stifled a yawn as he followed his big brother out of the room. "'Kay, Dean."

Just as they were climbing the stairs, one of Bobby's phones started ringing. Dean wondered briefly who it might be. The older hunter often got calls at all hours, much to his annoyance, and woe betide them if they didn't have a legitimate reason for ringing at unsociable times!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

The next morning when Dean arrived downstairs freshly showered, Bobby was already sitting at the table reading a newspaper and munching a slice of buttered toast.

"Glad you're up," he said gruffly, folding the paper and putting it down next to his half-empty coffee cup. "After you took Sam back up to bed last night, I got a phone call off Missouri."

"Missouri Mosely?" asked Dean going over to pour himself a much-needed cup of black coffee. "What did she want?"

"It was about young Sam's predicament actually. She herself can't help. I did ask if her psychic whatnot had picked up anything about Sam's future, but she said it's all a blur. But she does know someone who can read curses and spells – a woman called Barbara Shackleton. Missouri's given me her address and also contacted her to let her know we might pay a visit."

"What exactly do you mean 'she can read curses'? Does that mean she can cure him?"

"No, but she should be able to point us in the right direction. You see, there are literally millions of counter-curses out there. There are two types…general, some of which I tried on Sam, and they abolish a wide range of different curses, but the majority are specific and will only counteract one particular kind of curse or spell. But even if you find a counter-curse that'll work, it's not that simple 'cause the majority have unwanted side-effects shall we say. For example, I found a couple of hundred general ones altogether, but unless I wanted to risk permanently maiming or killing Sam, I couldn't use them…"

"Errr, Bobby, thanks for the really interesting theology lesson and all, but how exactly is this woman gonna help Sam?" interrupted Dean.

"Patience, Boy! I'm getting to that part," humphed the older hunter with irritation at being cut off, "Basically, we don't stand a hope in hell's chance of curing your brother without finding out exactly what kind of curse or spell we're dealing with. She can work that out…and once we know, we can search for the correct specific counter-curses and keep our fingers crossed that at least one of them is risk free!"

"Oh, well it sounds like a good place to start," conceded Dean, "Where is this woman based? I'd like to see her as soon as possible."

"Well, lady luck's shining on us for once…she works as a fortune teller in a travelling carnival that literally travels _all_ over the country, but believe it or not, at the moment, the carnival is based only three towns over, about a forty-five minute drive."

"'Bout time we had some good luck! A fortune teller, huh? No wonder Missouri knows her. Think you can arrange a meeting, Bobby?" Dean gulped down the last of his coffee.

"Will do, after breakfast. I've made you and Sam some toast."

"Thanks, I'll go wake the munchkin up."

Dean entered the bedroom and paused for a moment, watching his sleeping sibling. Sam looked so young and vulnerable in sleep – his cheek resting on the palm of a hand and one long leg dangling out from under the covers.

Dean stepped quietly up to the side of the bed, reaching out a hand to shake his shoulder. He halted the movement, noticing something sticking out of the top of the covers near Sam's chest. It was brown and fluffy. Dean leaned in to get a closer look, before realising what it was – Digger, the stuffed toy dog. A sad smile formed on Dean's lips – he was smiling because Sam effectively sleeping with a teddy was just too cute for words, but it was a sad smile, because Dean realised ruefully that Sam must have sneaked the toy upstairs (probably stuck up his t-shirt!), not willing to do it openly in case his big brother teased him. He determined that he'd pretend not to notice the dog and reached out once more, shaking Sam's shoulder gently.

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Rise and shine!"

Sam opened sleepy hazel eyes and blinked up at Dean. "Hiyuh, Dean," he yawned, sitting up and stretching his long limbs.

"Morning, kiddo," replied Dean, affectionately ruffling Sam's tousled hair, "Bobby's made breakfast."

"'Kay, Dean." Sam still looked half asleep as he got out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. "I'll be down in a minute."

Dean returned downstairs and five minutes later, Sam entered and seated himself at the table, looking much more awake.

Dean poured himself another cup of coffee and set it down on the table, before setting about getting Sam's breakfast. He then presented Sam with a bowl of Lucky Charms and two slices of toast with a flourish. "Here you go. Dig in!"

"Thanks," said Sam, making no effort to start eating. Instead, he was studying his older brother intently.

Dean took a mouthful of coffee, swallowing half, before his eyes suddenly went wide. He immediately gagged and stumbled over to the sink to spit the rest out.

Bobby took in the two Winchesters with a bemused expression – the eldest still gagging and choking at the sink and the youngest now doubled up with laughter. There were times he thought he lived in a madhouse when those two boys came to stay!

A few minutes later, after thoroughly rinsing his mouth out, Dean turned back to the table and pointed an accusing finger at the still giggling Sam. "Okay, runt, what did you do?"

Sam held up the bottle of vinegar, which had previously been residing in the middle of the table with the salt and pepper pots, with a mischievous smirk.

Bobby, finally realising what had happened, began to laugh too. Dean pretended to look offended. "Not you too, Bobby, come on….putting vinegar in a man's coffee is downright uncalled for!"

Sam continued to giggle. "You're a hypocrite, Dean."

Dean paused. _How was it that eight-year-old Sam had always known such big words?_ "Bet you don't even know what that means," he smirked.

"Do too," replied Sam haughtily, "It means you don't practise what you preach."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And why exactly am I a hypocrite?"

Sam's grin widened. "You said spitting coffee out is bad manners and you shouldn't do it!"

"Yeah? Well I've found an exception to the rule….when naughty little brothers try to poison you!"

"You should have seen your face…." said Sam, beginning to giggle again.

"Well, you know what happens to bratty little brothers who pick on their superior big brothers…" Dean left his threat unfinished as he advanced on Sam, grinning.

Sam knew full well what his older brother intended to do, having been subjected to it numerous times in the past. He instantly jumped up from the table and fled into the living room, still giggling. Dean immediately gave chase.

Bobby shook his head in amusement and followed. When he reached the living room, he found that Dean had successfully tackled Sam to the ground and was now straddling him while tickling mercilessly. Sam was literally shrieking with laughter, all the while ineffectually trying to push his brother off him.

"Get off…Dean…Stop it!….noooooo…Bobby, help me!…stop…" every few words were punctuated by Sam's uncontrollable laughter.

"Uh-uh, not until you beg for mercy," smirked Dean, continuing to tickle his writhing sibling beneath him.

"O-okay, mercy, D-dean. You w-win." Sam struggled to gain his breath, he was laughing that hard.

True to his word, Dean stopped tickling and stood up, a roguish glint in his twinkling green eyes. "You do realise you've started a war, Sammy-boy? And I intend to win!"

Bobby groaned aloud. He'd witnessed enough prank wars over the years. "Just leave me out of it you two, okay?" The older hunter could also recall quite a number of pranks that had been solely directed at him in the past!

While the Winchesters were eating their breakfast, Bobby went into the library to use the telephone. He came out ten minutes later looking pleased. "Got through to Barbara Shackleton. She said she'll see us at four thirty this afternoon. She said it'll take an hour at most."

"Who's she?" mumbled Sam, his mouth full of toast.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," replied Dean automatically, "she's a lady who might be able to help us find out how to get your memories back."

Sam finished chewing and swallowed before replying. "Gee, Dean, you've turned into Dad much."

"Nah, I'm way cooler than Dad!" Dean grinned. A moment later, he realised what he'd said and a knife twisted in his gut. He quickly stood up and moved to put his plate in the sink in order to hide his expression from Sam. He paused a moment, taking deep breaths to calm himself, before turning back to the table, a fake grin firmly fixed in place.

Dean felt guilty for taking advantage of Bobby's unlimited hospitality and even though Bobby asserted in no uncertain terms that no repayment was necessary, Dean insisted on helping him in his autoshop with the cars. So while Dean and Bobby spent the morning under the hoods of various automobiles, Sam sprawled on a nearby patch of grass reading a book.

At three o'clock, they all piled into the Impala and set off to find "Magical Moonbeams Travelling Carnival'. It didn't take long for Sam to start fidgeting.

"How much longer 'til we get there, Dean?" he asked after about fifteen minutes.

"Quite a while yet, Tiger. You okay back there?"

"No, I'm boooooored," whined Sam, "Can we play a game?"

"Sure, Squirt. What'd you have in mind?"

"I Spy," came the immediate reply.

They were still playing, when Dean pulled off the road into the large field that was serving as a car park for the duration of the carnival.

"I give up, Uncle Bobby. What does begin with S?"

"Spark plugs," chuckled Bobby.

"What're they?" asked Sam puzzled.

Dean brought the Impala to a standstill and turned off the engine. "I think Bobby's cheating, Sammy. Spark plugs are found in the engine, but you can't see them from in here."

"Hey! I aint cheatin'," contested Bobby hotly, "You said whatever I chose had to be _on or in_ the car. You didn't say anythin' about bein' able to see it!"

"Okay, okay….keep your hair on, Old Man," teased Dean. He was rewarded with a slap to the back of the head from the older hunter.

Once outside the car, they made their way to the front gate. One half of the extensive area was set up with fairground rides, stalls and booths, while the other half was filled with trailers and the vehicles that pulled them. Dean stopped a woman who was passing and asked her where they could find Barbara Shackleton. The woman pointed to a large brightly coloured trailer at the furthest end. After thanking her, they started towards the area that she had indicated, oblivious to the man who was standing in the shadow of a large oak tree, watching them intently.

_The Winchesters were here! What business could they have at the carnival? _Jason Wentworth – or that was the name of the body he was presently possessing – tracked their movements with his eyes, before cautiously beginning to follow them. The Winchesters' reputation preceded them in the demon world and he kept a safe distance, knowing that they were a force to be reckoned with. The youngest especially was of interest, as he was one of Azazel's _special children_. Jason couldn't prevent the repulsed sneer that marred his features when considering this – _Azazel was deluded_! _Never would he bow to an army of pitiful humans_!

Dean raised his eyebrows enquiringly upon reaching the trailer. Emblazoned in gold lettering along the side were the words: Visit Madame Grizelda to untangle the mystic web of your future!

"Madame Grizelda? I thought we were looking for a Barbara?"

Suddenly the trailer door opened and a tiny dark-haired woman peered out. "They're one and the same, Sugar. How many people do you know who'd want to visit 'psychic Barbara'? It completely lacks any mystique or finesse. So I took a stage name. I'm guessing you're the folks Missouri told me about?"

Introductions were made and they quickly entered. The inside of the trailer was a complete mixture of the normal and the unexpected. Regular furnishings and utensils nestled alongside strange sculptures, crystals and orbs.

Outside the trailer, Jason Wentworth paused. The fortune teller had real abilities he knew. _What did the Winchesters want with her? _He quickly moved behind the vehicle, knowing that the air vents that were situated there would enable him to eavesdrop on any conversation taking place within.

"Missouri said you can help us," stated Dean, getting right to the point, "You can find out what kind of curse it is? Can you also read his future? Missouri couldn't. Will we cure him?"

Barbara laughed. "I can't tell anyone's future, Sugar."

"But you're a fortune teller," pointed out Dean.

"I've got to pay the bills somehow," she shrugged, "shall we say that my particular talent isn't exactly a money-spinner. If I could actually _do_ spells it would be a different matter, but no, I only get to analyse them."

"Sounds like a pretty useful talent you've got if you ask me. You might be Sam's best hope of finding a cure. So how do we go about this?"

"I need him unconscious, his conscious mind will prevent me from getting a reading on the spell."

"What?" spluttered Dean, having visions of someone trying to knock his brother out either physically or using drugs. "There's no way! No-one's laying a finger on him!"

Barbara involuntarily took a step back at the fierce, protective expression on the young man's face before her.

"I just mean, he needs to be in a deep sleep, that's all," she hurriedly explained.

Dean glanced over at one very wide awake Sam, who was peering curiously at a display of crystal balls on a small table. "That could be a problem," he murmured, "Don't think that's gonna happen anytime soon." Seeing Sam reaching out to pick up one of the items, Dean barked in his direction, "Don't even think about it, young man!"

Sam's hand froze and he glanced across at Dean sheepishly, before putting both hands in his pockets.

"It's not a problem, because I was planning on hypnotising him. That'll put him into a deep sleep for as long as I need," replied Barbara.

"It won't hurt him? There's no risk he won't wake up again or anything is there?"

Barbara eyed the obviously agitated young man in front of her. "I can assure you it's perfectly safe. Hypnosis is even sanctioned and used by medical professionals you know."

Dean nodded. He knew that, but this was _Sam_ he was talking about – he wasn't taking _any_ chances.

"Okay, but I'm not leaving him! I'm staying right by him for the whole procedure!" Dean had heard horror stories of people being brainwashed to do all sorts of things while under the influence of hypnosis - he wanted to make sure he heard every single word that was said to his brother.

"That's fine," she reassured, indicating the back of the trailer, "he'll need to lie on the bed."

Dean had another thought. "And how exactly do you 'read' him? What will it involve? Nothing bad can happen can it?"

She shook her head. "I guarantee the process itself is totally harmless, but I'd rather not explain the intricacies of spellwork in front of the child. I'll explain everything in detail once he's asleep."

Dean moved towards Sam to explain to him what Barbara was going to do.

"Sorry," murmured Bobby, who had remained quiet all this while, "he's a little sensitive where his brother is concerned."

"I noticed!" muttered Barbara.

Soon, Sam was settled comfortably on the bed. Dean was relieved that the boy didn't seem frightened, just inquisitive.

"So I'm just gonna go to sleep for a little bit, right?"

"That's right, Sammy, and both me and Bobby will be here waiting for you when you wake up."

Barbara moved over to the side of the bed. "Are you ready, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "Are you gonna swing one of those pocket watches and I have to follow it with my eyes like they do on TV?"

Barbara laughed. "No, Sam, that doesn't really work. I do need you to listen very carefully to me though and do everything I say, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Okay."

Barbara looked sternly at Dean and Bobby. "And you two need to be quiet while I do this part, just until I get him asleep." She turned back to Sam and held up a large crystal. "Okay Sam, I want you to stare into the middle of this crystal….that's right…You will see rainbow colours reflected in it from the light. I want you to concentrate on those. If you watch closely, they're moving….try and follow them with your mind."

Dean watched sceptically. He didn't see how this was going to work. Sam had been staring into the crystal for about five minutes now and Barbara hadn't done anything except continually remind Sam to look at the colours and try and follow them. Granted, she was using a soft, soothing, melodic tone of voice, but there was no way someone just talking to him was going to send his exuberant kid brother to sleep!

Suddenly, Barbara moved and set down the crystal on the small cabinet beside the bed. Sam however remained transfixed, staring at the place where Barbara had previously held it. Dean couldn't help himself – he waved his hand up and down in front of Sam's face. Sam didn't even blink, but he did earn himself a stern glare from Barbara.

Barbara placed a gentle hand on the unresponsive boy's forehead and spoke softly. "Okay, Sam, you can only hear my voice. When I count to three, you are going to go to sleep and you will only wake up when you hear my voice command it. One…..two….three."

Sam's eyes immediately slid closed. His deep, even breathing signalled to Dean that he was indeed fast asleep. He leaned over and gently carded his fingers through the sleeping boy's hair. Sam remained unnaturally still.

"Is he okay?"

Barbara turned away from the bed to face the worried older brother. "Yes, he's fine. It is a hypnotic sleep though, so don't worry that he doesn't respond to you."

"So what are you going to do now?" asked Bobby gruffly.

"I'm going to find out what fuels the curse. Missouri says that this is a warlock's curse, which means it can be powered by two different sources….demonic power, because warlocks can syphon this from demons and use it for themselves or their own innate supernatural power that they are born with, or it may be a combination of the two. I also need to determine if it was a spoken incantation or if it was potion-based. Potion-based spells and curses tend to be easier to remove…I need to make physical contact with Sam. This will take a while, so you might as well take a seat." Barbara nodded to the wooden chairs by the table.

Dean immediately picked up one of the wooden chairs and set it down right next to the bed before plonking himself on it. He wanted to keep an extremely close eye on what was done to his brother!

Barbara rolled her eyes, but didn't comment as she began running her hands over the sleeping Winchester. A short while later, Dean started when he noticed that her hands had started to glow, but upon realising that Sam remained unresponsive and unconcerned by this new development, he settled back once more though still watching intently.

It was nearly an hour later when Barbara finally stepped back from the bed and dropped her hands with a loud sigh.

Dean was immediately on his feet. "Well?" he demanded. Bobby left his place at the table and moved over to the bedside, also eager to hear the news.

"Well, the best case scenario would have been a curse fuelled solely by demonic power, as they are fairly easy to resolve….." Barbara began.

"I sense a _but_ coming," muttered Bobby under his breath. Dean glanced at him, before focussing on the petite woman before him once more.

"Unfortunately it isn't," continued Barbara, ignoring the interruption, "nor is it fuelled by warlock magic alone. It's actually a mixture of the two. When I realised that, I hoped that the crystal that exploded and hit Sam had been submersed in a potion to imbue it with its power, because although much trickier than purely demonic curses, the chances of _eventually_ finding a counter-curse are moderate. However, I'm sad to say that Sam's is the worst case scenario as a spoken incantation was used to empower the crystal….."

"What does that mean? Is he going to be all right?" asked Dean paling, causing his faded freckles to stand out startlingly against the white of his skin.

"Don't worry, Sam's health isn't at risk. It's just a case of he'll have to grow up all over again." Barbara was quick to reassure. "Because I'm afraid that only a warlock or higher level demon would be able to break this curse."

While Dean was silent for a moment, digesting this news, Bobby posed a question, "Just how high level are we talkin'?"

"Sorry, but only a seventh, eighth or ninth tier demon could reverse this. And I suppose I should mention that the demon would need to physically touch him." Barbara hated to be the bearer of bad news.

Dean stood, fists clenched at his sides, teeth gritted against the intense emotions flooding him. He really wanted, no _needed_ to punch something, barely managing to restrain himself as this was Barbara's home. He couldn't get past the fact that his brother was stuck like this forever! Even though logically, he had known that it was a possibility, he had totally refused to even acknowledge the fact. The reality that he had totally lost his goofy, intelligent, caring, pain-in-the-ass, hunting partner, best friend _adult_ Sam forever had hit him like a ton of bricks.

Bobby, seeing Dean physically shaking with emotion, stepped up beside the younger hunter and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You gotta calm down, Boy."

Dean literally exploded. "Calm down? Sam's stuck as a freakin' eight-year-old and you want me to calm down! He's defenceless like this, Bobby!"

"Now don't you shout at me, Dean Winchester!" Bobby gave the younger hunter's shoulders a shake to ensure that he had his full attention. "You need to get a grip! You heard the lady….there _is_ a way."

"I swear no demon's ever gettin' near him, much less touching him!" Dean pulled away from Bobby's hands roughly. "They could say they'd cure him and then take a split second to snap his neck!"

"I agree, using a demon's out. Besides which, we'd never catch a demon from the tiers she's talking about anyway. But there's always the warlock option." Bobby watched Dean with concern. He thought of this boy as his own son.

"But you said all warlocks are evil SOBs, so what's to stop _them_ from harming Sam?" ground out Dean.

"Don't go putting words in my mouth, Boy," grunted Bobby, "I never said they were _all_ evil….powerful yes! The ones the hunters went after were obviously serving the dark side shall we say, but some just keep themselves to themselves."

"Oh, so we'll just go find ourselves a warlock then shall we?" flung out Dean sarcastically.

Bobby was tempted for a moment to throttle the boy, but he knew Dean's angry outburst stemmed entirely from overwhelming concern for his younger brother. Bobby felt awful, but he knew a sure-fire way to force Dean to get a grip on his emotions. "You really do need to calm down, son. Barbara's gotta wake Sam and he needs you. He's gonna be upset if you're all hot and bothered."

The words hit Dean like a slap and he swallowed whatever he was going to retort, turning instead to look at Sam. His baby brother looked so peaceful, even though he was unnaturally still. He concentrated on the breathing exercises that his father had taught him, while consciously forcing back the fear and anger that were threatening to overpower him.

After a few minutes, he had regained a semblance of control and turned to Barbara. "I'm really sorry for my reaction…it just came as a shock. Can you wake him now please?"

Barbara nodded and stepped up to the bedside. "Okay, Sam, you can hear my voice. When I count to three, you are going to open your eyes and wake up. One….two…..three."

Sam's sleepy hazel eyes immediately popped open and straight away searched for Dean.

"Hey kiddo, you okay?" asked Dean gently, running his fingers through Sam's bangs.

Sam yawned as he sat up. "I feel fine. I don't remember anything after I fell asleep. Was I supposed to? Do you know how to fix me now?"

"Everything's good, Sammy," reassured Dean, "No, you weren't supposed to remember and we're still working on getting your memories back. Trust me, there's nothing to worry about."

"Okay, Dean." If Dean said everything was okay, Sam knew that it must be true.

Knowing the shock that the two eldest members of the family before her had suffered, Barbara insisted that they stay for coffee (Sam had orange juice) and biscuits, as the carnival didn't open for another half an hour and her fortune-telling tent was already set up.

Outside, Jason Wentworth stood pondering all that he had just overheard. He and the others were tracking down Azazel's chosen children in an attempt to discover exactly what his end-game was. The rumour of course was that he was creating an army of humans with super powers. At first, they had watched the children that they had successfully managed to identify from a safe distance. They had been terrified of incurring Azazel's wrath by interfering. It had become clear however that the yellow-eyed demon was not protecting his protégés, as one had died in the resulting fire in the nursery, another had died of meningitis when they were eight and yet another had died in a car crash at eighteen. It was as if he had created them and then completely abandoned them. All of the children had appeared completely normal throughout childhood. It wasn't until their twenty-second year that their abilities or powers had begun to manifest. Although they had known for a while that Sam Winchester was one of the _special_ _children_, the prospect of taking him was unthinkable – it would be stupid and reckless to take on a seasoned hunter, not to mention that he usually came as a packaged deal along with the infamous older brother Dean Winchester. _Now, with the youngest having the mind of a child and his threat being effectively neutralised maybe it would be worthwhile trying to take him? He would need to be separated from his brother somehow though._ Jason decided to consult with the others.

Keeping an eye on an exuberant eight-year-old while drinking his coffee, helped Dean to fully find his equilibrium once more. _Sam needed him to be strong!_ Sam had chattered virtually non-stop while munching happily on the biscuits. After thanking Barbara for her time and hospitality, they set off in the direction of the main entrance.

Sam looked at the fairground rides and the multi-coloured booths wistfully as he followed Dean and Bobby towards the car park. Dean noticed the look on his younger brother's face and turned to the older hunter striding next to him.

"Errr, Bobby, are you in a hurry to get back?"

Bobby shook his head. "No, why?"

Dean nodded towards Sam, who had paused and was looking eagerly at a board containing a map of the layout of the attractions. "Because I think a certain someone would very much like to go to the carnival."

Bobby turned and watched Sam for a moment – the kid had moved away from the map and was staring at everything around him with awe and longing clearly evident on his youthful face.

"Hey, Sammy!" called Dean.

"Sorry, Dean, I'm coming," replied Sam, moving quickly to catch up with his brother and uncle.

"Would you like to stay for a while, kiddo? We could go on the rides and stuff?"

Sam's eyes lit up. "Really? You're serious?"

Dean nodded and suddenly found his arms full of little brother, as Sam impulsively hugged him.

"You're the best, Dean!"

They went on all the rides first. Sam was ecstatic when he realised that with his adult height, he could go on everything, as he had always been incredibly small for his age as a child, which meant he had been banned from the fastest and scariest rides due to the height restrictions in place. Bobby had wanted to sit out the fastest and scariest rides by choice, but was unable to resist neither Sam's puppy-dog eyes when he begged the older hunter to go on with them nor Dean's taunt that he was "chicken".

They did take a break in the middle for some ice-cream. While waiting for Dean to pay for the ice-creams, Sam spotted a puppet show nearby which was about to start.

"Can I watch it Dean, please?"

Dean grinned at Sam's enthusiasm – the kid was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Sure, Sammy. Me and Bobby will sit on the bench over there and wait, okay?" He handed Sam his ice-cream.

Sam immediately bounded off and sat on the grass in front of the puppet theatre with a number of other children.

Sam watched the puppet show enthralled, gasping, chanting and laughing along with the other youngsters. Bobby and Dean watched Sam mesmerised.

"He looks so happy and carefree," muttered Bobby, mentally comparing him with the grieving young man of not even two months ago.

"Yeah, and that's the way it's gonna stay," replied Dean with the utmost conviction, glaring at a group of teenagers who were pointing at Sam and snickering.

When the show was over, Sam skipped over to the bench. Dean shook his head in amusement when he noticed that his baby brother was now wearing half of his ice-cream.

"You do know you were supposed to _eat_ the ice-cream, Mucky Pup?" teased Dean.

Sam looked down at his stained jacket sheepishly. "I kinda got distracted by the show, it was totally amazing! And well, my ice-cream sorta melted."

"Uh-huh," grinned Dean, "Shall we go on the rest of the rides now?" Sam nodded and followed his brother and Bobby through the crowds towards the swinging pirate ship.

After disembarking the final ride, a really tall roller coaster that just happened to go upside down three times, Dean watched Sam with a fond smile on his face. The kid was still giggling, his hair a total mess from having been windswept on all the rides. Suddenly, Bobby bumped into him and Dean transferred his attention to the older hunter. Bobby seemed unable to walk in a straight line and was looking decidedly unwell.

"Hey, you're looking a little green around the gills there, old timer, not dizzy are you?" he teased.

"Shut up!" grunted the older hunter.

It was decided that they would get some food before taking a look at what the various booths had to offer. They ended up in the queue for the hotdog stand. It didn't take Sam long to grow bored of standing still.

"Deeeeean, can I go look at those stalls over there? Please?" he pleaded.

Dean looked over to where his brother was pointing, it wasn't too far away and he doubted anything supernatural or human would attempt to harm his brother due to the crowds of potential witnesses. "Okay, Sammy but you've gotta promise me that you'll stay there or come back to me if you get bored. That a deal?"

"Yeah, I promise." Sam made his way slowly through the crowd to the stalls in question.

For once, Dean was glad of his brother's ridiculous height as he could still see the top of Sam's head from his place in the queue. He chatted easily to Bobby, glancing across to check on his sibling every so often.

"Dean!"

Dean heard Sam's panicked shout through the crowd and whirled immediately towards the sound, his hand going automatically to the gun stowed in the back of his jeans.

On seeing the 'threat' however, he stopped reaching for his weapon and abandoning Bobby, he instantly started pushing his way towards his brother through the unrelenting crowd. This wasn't just any old freakin' clown, it was a freakin' clown on stilts! And it was moving right towards where his baby brother was standing.

Sam looked at the approaching monstrosity with rising panic. He _needed_ Dean or his Dad, but he was on his own. He called instinctively for his brother, but couldn't see him through the crowd. The clown was coming closer and closer and closer….. It was huge! Sam's heart began to hammer in his chest and he turned tail and ran blindly, physically pushing people out of the way. All he could picture was the clown after chasing him, the red around its mouth morphing into dripping blood.

Dean finally arrived at the place where his brother had been standing only a couple of minutes before, to find that his ginormous sibling had fled the scene. Dean swore, glaring at the clown on stilts as it passed by, oblivious to the trauma it had caused. He seriously doubted his hunter tracking skills would help him find his misplaced sibling amidst these crowds either. Looking around frantically however, he realised that Sam had left a very clear trail behind him – Dean could see a number of people picking themselves up off the floor and complaining loudly about 'the youth of today'. _Way to go, Sammy! Good philosophy - don't let people stand in your way, just bowl 'em over!_

Dean followed the trail of disgruntled people until he came to the edge of the carnival. There he paused and looked around, having no idea which direction the panicked boy would have gone.

"Sam?" he called loudly and was relieved to hear an echoing shout, though it sounded breathless and weak. "D-d-d-dean?"

He followed the sound of Sam's voice towards a shed and found the boy huddled down the side of it, knees drawn up to his chest. There were tear tracks on the boy's face, but what concerned Dean the most at that moment was that Sam was hyperventilating. He knew that he needed to slow the kid's breathing or he would pass out.

"Sammy, it's okay, I've gotcha. The clown's gone." Dean crouched down in front of Sam and placed his hands on the boy's knees. He could feel him trembling underneath his touch. "You've gotta breathe with me, kiddo, okay?" When Sam nodded, Dean began to take deep slow breaths in, holding them before slowly exhaling and encouraged Sam to do the same.

After a few minutes, Sam was breathing more normally and Dean pulled him in for a hug. "You did real good."

"Sorry I didn't stay by the stalls," mumbled Sam.

Dean laughed. "That's okay, I think we can make exceptions for clowns, Lil Bro. Shall we go find Bobby? He'll be wondering where we are."

They found Bobby bearing hotdogs, as once he had realised what was up, he had stayed in the queue, trusting Dean to rescue his sibling from the obviously man-eating clown.

After eating and looking at some of the stalls, Dean told Sam that he could choose one more activity before going home.

Sam's first reaction was to pout. "I don't wanna go home yet, Dean."

Dean looked at his watch. "It's half past nine, so I've already let you stay up an hour past bedtime and it'll take another forty-five minutes to drive home, so I've been more than fair. But if you don't want to do just one more activity, then we can just go home right now?"

"Noooo! Okay, Dean, I'll be good. I'll choose one more."

Sam looked around and spotted a shooting game that had a selection of prizes to choose from. His eyes lit up when he spotted one of the things on offer.

"Can I do that, Dean?"

Dean looked over – to win, you needed to hit the bullseye once and you got three shots. He knew that by eight, Sam had been to the firing range numerous times with their Dad and that he was a pretty good shot. His younger brother would have no problem winning.

"Sure, Sammy, which prize do you want?" Dean thought that Sam probably wanted the water pistol rifle or the handheld electronic game.

"A goldfish," he muttered looking at his feet as if expecting Dean to refuse his request.

Dean glanced back at the booth and there were indeed a number of plastic bags filled with water, each containing a single goldfish.

"You want a goldfish? Where would we put it?"

"I thought we could maybe go to the petshop tomorrow," murmured Sam, still looking down and refusing to meet Dean's eyes, "it could stay in the washing-up bowl for tonight."

Dean remembered now how much Sam had always wanted a pet when they were growing up. Dean himself had gone through a phase of wanting a dog, but had readily accepted it when their father had explained to him why they couldn't. When told he couldn't have a dog however, Sam had then asked for a cat and then a hamster and then a budgerigar and then a rabbit and then a guinea-pig….and the list went on. He was always upset when he was invariably informed that he couldn't have any of the aforementioned pets and had taken matters into his own hands when he was six.

_When he was six, Sam had found a snail on the sidewalk and as his Dad wouldn't let him have a pet, Sam had decided the snail could be his pet and he had called it Sparky. Being a conscientious pet owner, Sam had asked his teacher at school what snails needed to live. After that, he responsibly fed Sparky lots of leaves and vegetables and made sure to keep the snail damp. He had carried that snail with him for nearly three whole months – in the day, often keeping it in his jacket pocket and the rest of the time keeping it in an empty coffee jar. Dean had of course known about the pet snail, but their father had been oblivious. Then one day, Sam had accidently sat on Sparky and squashed him. He had been totally inconsolable! John Winchester had been utterly confused as to why his youngest was clinging to his big brother sobbing his little heart out, only stopping when he eventually fell asleep due to exhaustion in Dean's lap._

Thinking of this, Dean recognised the opportunity to make up for one failing in his brother's childhood.

"You can have a fish if you want, Sammy. We can definitely go to the petshop tomorrow and buy what it needs."

Sam finally looked up and met his brother's eyes. "I can? Really?"

Dean nodded, this time not surprised by the spontaneous hug that Sam gave him.

Dean paid the bored-looking teenager manning the stall and he handed a rifle to Sam. The rifles fired darts that would stick in the cork target boards.

Sam took careful aim and fired, missing the bullseye by quite a margin. Dean was surprised – _maybe the adult body being controlled by a child's brain was having a negative impact on his shooting ability?_ Sam's remaining two shots also went wide.

Dean looked at Sam's crestfallen face – the kid actually looked like he was about to cry – and reached again for his wallet. "Hey, I think I'll have a go too," he called to the teenager, before turning to his forlorn brother, "Don't you worry, Sammy. I'm gonna win you a fish."

Dean took careful aim and fired. His shot went wide. Dean knew that he shouldn't have missed. "Excuse me, can I use a different rifle for my next two shots? This one's sights are faulty."

"Sure," replied the teenager, still looking thoroughly bored as he handed Dean another gun.

Dean took careful aim and fired. Again, it didn't hit the bullseye. An idea began to form in Dean's mind – the carnival obviously wanted to make money and therefore would want to give out as few prizes as possible!

Sam was staring wide-eyed at Dean. _Him_ missing the target was one thing, but _Dean_ missing it was unthinkable. His brother was a totally amazing shot whenever they went to the shooting range with their Dad.

Dean turned to Sam. "You don't need to feel bad 'bout missing your shots, Squirt. These rifles are all rigged! The aiming mechanism is deliberately off."

"But I really wanted a fish. It's not fair of them to do that," protested Sam.

"Don't worry, little brother, I'm gonna get you your fish!" Dean lined the rifle up with the target once more, but instead of firing, he analysed where the dart had landed in relation to where he had aimed. He then tilted the end of the rifle up and slightly to the left before pulling the trigger. He was rewarded by the dart hitting right in the middle of the bullseye.

Sam jumped up and down in excitement, before moving over to the display of prizes to choose his goldfish. "I'm gonna have this one, Dean. I'm gonna call him Rodney."

"Rodney, huh? Interesting name. Now come on, we've gotta get you home, it's way past your bedtime."

Sam didn't complain, he was too fascinated by his fish and he obediently followed Dean and Bobby back to the car.

By the time they arrived back at Bobby's place, Sam was already half asleep. Dean took Sam's precious cargo out of his hands, promising to put the fish in a bowl of water, before sending the shattered boy straight up to bed. A couple of hours later, Dean and Bobby also called it a night and went upstairs.

Dean awoke when he felt his bed move and instinctively reached for the knife under his pillow, all senses immediately alert. A second later, he recognised the silhouette of his brother outlined by the dim moonlight filtering through the thin curtains and became aware of the soft sniffling sound.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay?" asked Dean in concern, propping himself up on one elbow.

Sam didn't reply. Instead, just as he used to do when he was really eight, he lifted up the covers and clambered into his older brother's bed seeking comfort. Dean automatically moved back to make room for the kid, only stopping when he banged into the wall.

"Had a bad dream," sniffed Sam, snuggling up to Dean and burying his head in his shoulder.

Dean slid his arms around Sam, hugging him back, but also preventing the kid from falling out of the bed - Bobby's spare beds certainly weren't made to fit two adults!

"Hush, it's okay, Sammy. It wasn't real. Did you dream about something from Dad's journal again?" He could feel Sam's tears wetting the t-shirt that he slept in.

Sam didn't vocalise his response, though Dean felt him shaking his head against his shoulder.

"No?" he questioned gently. "What did you dream?"

Sam didn't immediately respond and Dean thought he wasn't going to answer.

Then the boy gave a small sob. "C-c-clowns," he muttered, his voice muffled and almost inaudible due to still being pressed into his older brother's shoulder. "I kn-know I'm being stupid, D-dean. I know y-you and Dad are r-right that they c-can't hurt me. M-my head tells m-me that, but wh-when I see one I can't b-believe it and I g-get so sc-scared. I'm a b-big baby."

Dean listened to Sam's tearful explanation, continuing to hold him tightly, while using one hand to rub soothing circles on his back. "You're not stupid, Sam! And you're definitely not a baby either! Everyone is scared of something you know."

"B-but c-clowns can't h-hurt me. They're only p-people dressed u-up," sniffled Sam.

"Listen, Sammy, I know that Dad had this conversation with you at some point, but it might have been when you're older….do you know what a _phobia_ is?"

"Kinda," mumbled Sam, face still entombed in Dean's now damp t-shirt, "it's when someone's v-very very frightened of s-something right?"

"Yeah, but it's more than that. In a phobia, the fear is irrational, that means it doesn't make sense, and even though the person knows they _shouldn't_ be afraid of whatever, they still are."

"So I have a ph-phobia of clowns?"

"Yeah, Sammy, you do. But it's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about, because it's not your fault and you can't help it."

Under Dean's quiet reassurances, Sam's sniffles slowly subsided.

"You okay now, Tiger?" asked Dean, "You ready to get back into bed now?"

Sam finally lifted his head and spoke with a pitiful entreaty in his voice. "Can I stay here?...Please….I feel safe with you…..I'm scared the dreams will come back. The clowns were eating you and Uncle Bobby!"

Dean hesitated. Not because he didn't want Sam in his bed, but because he was convinced that if he didn't have an arm wrapped securely around his back, the kid would have already fallen out of it – it definitely wasn't made for two men!

"Sure, Sammy, but trade places with me okay? I want you next to the wall."

"Why?" asked Sam, obligingly scrambling over the top of his brother to take up his new position in the bed.

Dean, having narrowly missed Sam elbowing him in the ribs as he clambered over, thought fast. He knew that if he told the truth, that he thought it was highly likely that the person on the end would fall out, Sam would feel guilty and insist on sleeping in his own bed, even though he was obviously still really unsettled.

"You know I always wanna sleep closest to the door, well I won't be able to unless you sleep by the wall."

Sam was familiar with Dean's insistence on which bed he had when sleeping in motel rooms, so he accepted the explanation without question. "Okay, but why _do_ you always wanna sleep by the door, Dean?"

Dean wasn't going to give Sam the real reason – _so that any supernatural fugly has to come through me before it can get to you_ – and used the universal big brother comeback instead: "'Cause I'm the oldest, which means I get to choose."

"Being the youngest sucks," murmured Sam, turning and snuggling into Dean, "I never get to choose anything first."

Dean grinned at this and looped an arm around Sam's waist, hoping that it would help to anchor him in the bed and prevent him from tumbling out, besides giving comfort to his younger brother. "Trust me, Junior, being the baby of the family has its perks. Night, Sammy."

"I can't think of any," grumbled Sam, "Night, Dean."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**** I do apologise for any inaccuracies in terminology – Supernatural is set in America and I'm English (though I grew up in South Africa), so I am aware that some of the words or phrases I use may not be correct for an American audience. I do try to adapt them when I am able to do so.**

**Chapter 7:**

Bobby Singer made his way quietly towards the stairs, not wanting to wake the sleeping Winchesters. He yawned as he ran a hand sleepily over his bearded face. The older hunter glanced casually into his spare bedroom as he passed, before doing a double take – Sam's bed was empty and there were two heads sticking out of the top of the covers in Dean's.

Bobby chuckled at the sight and quickly made his way downstairs to find his camera. This was just too good an opportunity for future blackmail to miss! Obviously, he'd wait to use it until Sam was cured though. Bobby refused to give up hope – somehow, they would reverse the curse!

Returning quickly, he snapped a few shots, grinning widely at the scene before him. Both Winchesters looked younger in sleep and Dean especially looked at peace. Bobby's heart swelled with anxiety as he thought of the heavy burdens that the young man was carrying. He just hoped that after he had made some calls today, he might be able to offer Dean a slight ray of hope concerning one of those burdens at least. With a last fond look at the boys he cared for as if they were his own, Bobby made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

Dean slowly awoke and automatically rolled over. With a startled yell, he landed with a loud thud on the unforgiving floor. He realised immediately what had happened and truly hoped that Bobby didn't come and investigate the sound – he could do without that embarrassment! The noise had awoken Sam however and his sibling was now propped on his elbows, blinking sleepily down at him.

"Dean? Did you just fall out of bed?"

"Errr, no Sammy. I was trying to get out without waking you, 'cause you need your beauty sleep, and I slipped."

"Oh." Sam flopped back down on the bed. Suddenly he had another thought and propped himself back up. "You didn't hurt yourself did you?" he asked, the concern for his brother's welfare shining in his expressive hazel eyes.

"No, I'm fine," lied Dean, knowing full well that he would probably develop a nasty bruise right in the middle of his back if the pain he was experiencing was anything to go by.

Sam lay down once more and closed his eyes. "I don't have to get up yet do I, Dean? I don't wanna."

"No, kiddo, you go back to sleep for a bit. I'll get you up for breakfast later." Dean knew that Sam had had a really late night the evening before and most definitely did not want a grumpy, tantruming Sam on his hands!

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen and found Bobby staring into the washing-up bowl.

"Mornin', Dean," grunted the older hunter without turning around, "the fish is still alive."

Dean hadn't even considered that possibility and remembering vividly the fiasco over the deceased snail, Dean silently thanked whoever might be listening that Rodney was still alive and kicking. "Thank heaven!" he murmured, as he seated himself at the table and poured himself his usual morning cup of black coffee.

Bobby came over and sat down across from Dean. "So did that sasquatch of a brother of yours kick you outa the bed then?" he asked conversationally, beginning to chuckle when Dean immediately flushed.

"Not exactly. Man, you really need to invest in some bigger beds!" Dean considered it a miracle that he'd made it through to morning before his ungraceful exit.

"Is Sam okay? How come you ended up sharing anyway?"

"Nightmare about clowns….apparently they were eating me and you. The poor kid."

Dean let Sam sleep for another two hours, before deciding he needed to get the kid up. He paused in the bedroom doorway for a moment, just relishing watching his baby brother sleeping peacefully.

"Sammy! Rise and shine, Tiger." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and shook Sam's shoulder gently.

"Go away," came the muffled response.

"Uh-uh, Junior, you've slept long enough." Dean gave his uncooperative sibling another gentle shake.

"But, Deeeeeean, I'm still tiiiiiiiired," came the whined reply.

Dean grinned and played the card that he knew without a doubt would work. "Uh, okay then. I just thought you'd wanna check on Rodney is all."

The response was immediate – Sam sat bolt upright before physically flinging himself out of the bed. He then sprinted straight for the stairs, without even stopping for his usual morning bathroom break.

Dean chuckled and followed his whirlwind of a brother at a more sedate pace. In the kitchen, Sam was already leaning over the washing-up bowl and talking to the fish. Bobby was watching the youngest Winchester with amusement.

"I'm gonna get you a nice big home, Rodney, so that you'll have lots of room to swim around and some pretty multi-coloured gravel for your carpet and I'm sure you'd like one of those treasure chests that let out lots of bubbles and you'll want some plants to nibble on and maybe if I'm really good, I can talk Dean into buying you a friend, 'cause you must be lonely….hmm….and maybe you'd also like….."

Sam trailed off and turned towards Dean, his warm hazel eyes suddenly troubled.

"What's up, kiddo?" Dean could read his brother like a book and knew immediately that there was something wrong.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked for a fish."

"Why not, Sammy?" Dean couldn't understand this change of heart, as the kid had been over the moon and so excited only a moment before. "Don't you want a pet anymore?"

"More than anything," admitted Sam in a whisper, refusing to meet Dean's eyes, "but I didn't think about how much money it would cost to buy him a nice home and the other stuff he needs and I know we often don't have much."

Dean was relieved – this was something that he could solve. "We've got more than enough money at the moment, Sammy, so you don't need to worry about that." Dean knew that there were still plenty of funds left on the two fake credit cards that he was using at the moment.

Sam looked up at him, hope flaring in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, Really." Dean was rewarded with a full two-dimpled smile from his younger brother.

"Anyway, Sam, I'm sure goldfish bowls don't cost all that much," put in Bobby, trying to help reassure the youngest Winchester.

"But Uncle Bobby, I can't get a goldfish bowl….I read about them, they're cruel! Something about surface area and oxygen, but I didn't really understand. The book said you need a tank and also a filter to keep them healthy. Oh, and you need some stuff to take the chorine out of the water too 'cause it's bad for them. I used to think only swimming pools had chlorine in, but tap water must have it as well."

Bobby stared at Sam bemused. _How on earth did an eight-year-old have such in-depth knowledge of fishcare?_

Dean grinned at the flabbergasted look on his friend's face. "He kinda read up on every pet he ever wanted, thinking if he knew how to look after it properly, Dad might actually let him have it."

"So is there anything you'd like to do today, Sam?" Dean asked once his brother was seated at the table eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.

"Go to the pet shop," replied Sam immediately.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I gathered that. But is there anything you'd like to do when we get back?" Dean was determined to make good on his promise to spend quality time with his brother and give Sam a second chance at a happy childhood.

Sam thought for a moment. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Can we go play in our tree-house? We could take a picnic lunch?"

_The Tree-house._ Dean hadn't thought of it in years and he hadn't been there since Sam had turned fifteen and decided he was too old to play in a tree-house anymore. Dean instantly pictured the clearing again, with the sparkling, shallow stream meandering through the middle and the fallen logs that made perfect natural benches. In his mind's eye, he could see the tall trees surrounding the clearing that he and Sam had spent hours climbing in and the roughly built tree-house perched in the thick branches of the tallest tree of all. Dean found himself overwhelmed with an unexpected desire to visit the place again – it had been his and Sam's special place whenever they had visited Uncle Bobby.

"Sure thing, Sammy. When we get back from the pet shop and get Rodney's new home all set up, you can help me make some sandwiches for the picnic, okay?"

After breakfast, Bobby remained behind to make some calls while the Winchesters drove into town to find a pet shop. He didn't tell Dean who he was calling or why, because he didn't want the boy to get false hopes up.

An hour later, the Winchesters returned - Dean carrying a fairly large tank and a carrier bag looped over one arm and Sam carefully cradling a bag of water that contained a black goldfish.

"Look, Uncle Bobby, I got a friend for Rodney," Sam enthusiastically shoved the bag in front of the older hunter's face, "I'm gonna call her Minnie."

Bobby had to take a step backwards in order to be able to focus on the fish in the bag – Sam had nearly accidentally whacked him in the face with it. "Errr, very nice Sam. How do you know it's a girl?"

"Because it looks like a girl," replied Sam, giving Bobby a look that plainly said _Duh!_

Bobby didn't challenge Sam's innocent assumption, having no desire whatsoever to get into the differences between boys and girls regardless of what species he was talking about!

Supernatural ~ time break ~ Supernatural ~time break ~ Supernatural

Dean led the way across the salvage yard towards the small iron gate set in the back wall. He pulled back the bolt and opened the gate – it squealed loudly from lack of use. He paused for a moment, looking down the narrow pebbled path that wound its way through the trees. The warm sunlight created a speckled pattern on the ground. Dean glanced askance at Bobby, noticing that the older hunter too was wearing a nostalgic expression.

Bobby shook his head. "We always used to come here, every time you boys visited for longer than a few days. Remember?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

Sam was getting impatient at just standing there. "What's up with you, Dean? Can't we just go already?" he pouted.

"Okay, okay, Chill! I'm goin'" Dean stepped through the gate and began following the path.

Bobby tried to explain to the youngest Winchester. "It's weird for me and your brother, Sam. You see, we've not been here for years and it's bringing back lots of memories."

"Years?" questioned Sam in astonishment, "But why did you stop coming? It's our family place. I wouldn't do that ever!"

Bobby chuckled. "But you did Sam. You grew up and didn't come any more either."

"Growing up sucks then," muttered Sam, before skipping ahead.

The moment Dean entered the clearing, he was inundated with memories. He was powerless to thwart them as scene after scene from his childhood flashed before him.

He remembered vividly the first time that they had come here:

_Seven-year-old Dean held tightly onto his just turned three-year-old brother's hand as they paddled in the shallow stream. Although it was really shallow to Dean, it came right up to just above his baby brother's knees. Both were wearing shorts and t-shirts as it was a really warm day._

_His father and his father's friend were sitting on the bank talking. Whenever Sammy noticed 'Uncle Bobby' looking in their direction, he would hide behind Dean's legs – understanding the universal toddler truth that if he couldn't see Bobby, then Bobby couldn't see him. Dean smiled down at his shy brother. He had met the older hunter twice before, when the man had come to the apartment they had been renting, but both times, Sam had already been in bed. Even if Dean hadn't met him before however, he still would have accepted him – Dean trusted his father implicitly, so if Dad said Uncle Bobby was a family friend, then Dean would believe him._

"_He won't eat you, Sammy," Dean whispered trying to pull the three-year-old out from behind him. Sam however had clung to his leg like a limpet._

"_Sammy no like him," whispered Sam back, more than loud enough for the two men on the bank to hear. _

_John cast an apologetic look at the man that had been mentoring him over the last six months and who he had come to view as a really close friend. "I'm really sorry…. he doesn't mean it. He's just really shy."_

_Bobby chuckled. "Don't worry, it takes more than a toddler's disapproval to offend me. Anyway, I like a challenge. I'll just have to work extra hard to win him over."_

_Bobby deliberately turned to face towards John, but kept watching the children out of the corner of his eye. He was rewarded by seeing the toddler stepping out from behind his big brother._

_Sam tugged his hand out of Dean's "I's a big boy!" he insisted. _

"_I know you are, Tiger, but I like holding your hand."_

"_I no wanna hold Dee's hand."_

_Even though Dean was worried that if his brother slipped on the slimy rocks, he might completely submerge beneath the surface, he didn't try and force his brother to hold his hand. He just hoped he'd be able to catch the stubborn toddler in time if he fell! Sam was right in the middle of the 'terrible twos' phase at the moment whenever he didn't get his own way and Dean knew that if he tried to force the issue, the kid would most likely have a tantrum, which would swiftly earn him a smacked bottom from their Dad and Dean didn't want that._

_Sammy reached down his little hand and scooped some water up. He giggled as he threw it at Dean. "Sammy wet Dee!"_

"_Well, Dean's gonna wet Sammy then," Dean teased, scooping up a tiny amount of water and pouring it over the toddler's head._

"_No, Dee!" Sam stamped his little foot in the water, "Sammy can wet Dee, but Dee can't wet Sammy!"_

"_And how exactly is that fair?" muttered Dean, shaking his head at toddler logic._

_Suddenly, Sam's foot slipped off the algae-covered rock he was standing on and with a loud shriek, he fell. The shriek was cut off as the toddler's head disappeared beneath the surface._

_Dean watched in horror. He had immediately lunged forward when Sam slipped, but his seven-year-old reflexes were not quick enough to catch his sibling. Sam was only under water for a few seconds however as Dean instantly scooped him up into his arms. The toddler was spluttering and gasping as he had swallowed a considerable amount of water. _

_John was on his feet, reaching out to take Sam from Dean. The toddler had other ideas and locked his arms around his big brother's neck and wrapped his legs tightly around his waist. "W-want D-dee!" he sobbed._

_John was concerned about how much water his youngest may have breathed in, but not wanting to distress the child further, he sat down and pulled Dean into his lap. As Sam was now effectively sitting in Dean's lap, John was able to visually assess him and reach around to pat the toddler on the back while he coughed. John didn't like the wheezing sound that his youngest was making._

_A moment later, the toddler vomited up a small amount of stream water – right down the front of Dean's t-shirt._

_Bobby had to give the eldest kid credit. He would have expected a normal seven-year-old to be grossed out by that, but the kid didn't even flinch. Instead, he dropped a kiss on the toddler's head and murmured soothingly to him._

_John was glad that after vomiting, his baby's breathing had returned to normal. He enjoyed the closeness of having both of his children in his lap. _

"_Do you boys want to go back to Uncle Bobby's?" John wasn't worried about them getting cold even though they were extremely wet, as it was a very warm day and they would soon dry out. But he did think that with the shock they had both had that they might want to call it a day._

_Dean shook his head. "I'd like to stay, unless, Sammy wants to go that is." He looked down at his baby brother nestled against his chest, his thumb now firmly stuck in his mouth. "Sammy?" he questioned, "You wanna go back home?"_

_Sam shook his head in response. "Sammy stay," he mumbled without removing his thumb._

_It didn't take long for the toddler to recover from his fright and he and Dean were soon chasing each other around the clearing. Bobby noted that when Sam was on, the older boy deliberately ran slow enough for the toddler to catch him._

_When Dean asked if he could paddle again, John gave permission but tugged his youngest into his lap to talk to him. "You can paddle again too if you want, Sammy, but you must hold Dean's hand at all times. You wouldn't have fallen in before if you were holding your brother's hand."_

"_Sammy no like the naughty water." The toddler refused at first to go back into the stream and stood looking mournfully at his paddling big brother. "Sammy want Dee."_

"_Come paddle with me then." Dean held his hand out to the three-year-old. He realised that the toddler was now frightened of the water and wanted to stop his brother from being afraid._

_Sam shook his head. "Dee come to Sammy."_

"_No, Sammy, you can come and paddle with me. If you hold my hand, I promise I won't let you fall."_

"_You pwomise?"_

"_Yeah, I'll never let anything bad happen to you, okay?" Dean again reached out his hand._

_Sam nodded and put his chubby little hand into Dean's, before hesitantly stepping back into the stream._

Another memory assaulted Dean:

_Eight-year-old Dean had been climbing the trees. Four-year-old Sam was sulking, because their Dad had said he was too little to climb them. However, Dean had slipped. His father's strong arms had been there to catch him before he hit the ground, but his left wrist had got caught in one of the branches on the way down._

_The pain had been excruciating and he burst into tears as he cradled the injured limb to his chest._

_John had seated his eldest on one of the fallen logs so that he could examine him properly, afraid that the wrist might be broken. He was relieved to discover that it was only badly sprained. Always the hunter, even though this was family time, he had come prepared and was glad that he had brought the first aid kit. He bandaged the damaged wrist, hating the extra discomfort that it evidently caused his eldest. _

_He had then pulled Dean into his lap and cuddled him until the boy's crying had subsided to mere sniffles. As his father gently thumbed away the last of his tears, Dean had noticed Sam standing on the sidelines looking scared._

"_Hey, Sammy, it's okay," he sniffed holding his uninjured hand out towards his brother._

_Sam had been incredibly worried about Dean – his big brother cried so rarely that Sam knew he must have been really really hurt._

"_You okay, Dean?"_

"_Yeah, Sammy, I'm fine. Don't worry. I just hurt my wrist is all."_

"_I can make it all better," said the four-year-old confidently, stepping forward and planting a sloppy kiss on Dean's bandage. "It's all better now, I've given it a magic kiss."_

Another memory forced itself upon Dean:

_Nine-year-old Dean and five-year-old Sam stood passing planks of wood and nails to Dad and Uncle Bobby as they built a tree-house. It had been Dean who had asked for the tree-house, but John had at first resisted the idea, because he still considered Sam too young to be high up in a tree and he knew without a doubt that wherever Dean would be, Sam would be also. It was Uncle Bobby who had come up with the idea of attaching railings to keep the youngest Winchester safe. That, along with Dean promising that he would never leave his baby brother alone for even a single minute when they were in the tree-house had finally persuaded the Winchester patriarch. _

_How they had loved that tree-house! Over the years, it had been their den, their cave, their fort, a dungeon, their castle, their sanctuary. In their teenage years, before they both stopped coming to it, it had also been a place for Sam to read books when he wanted some peace and quiet and a place where Dean had made out with girls when he wanted some privacy._

Another memory washed over him, this one of when Sam was six and he was ten:

"_Let's jump on, Daddy," whispered Sam conspiratorially to his big brother._

_Dean glanced over to where John and Bobby were lying in the long grass enjoying the summer sun and grinned_

"_Great idea." He high-fived his little brother._

_The two boys crept quietly over to the snoozing men. Then they both launched themselves on top of their father and started tickling._

_John woke with a start to find himself under a tickle attack from his giggling children. His youngest was also bouncing up and down on his stomach like he was a trampoline, having no concept at all how uncomfortable this was for his old man._

"_We got you, Daddy!" he squealed in delight._

"_You sure did, Tiger," agreed John, reaching one hand towards each son to retaliate the tickling._

_Bobby had been woken by the commotion and was sitting up snorting with laughter at the tickling pile of Winchesters._

"_You know you could help, Singer. It's two against one if you haven't noticed," suggested John drily. _

_Bobby decided to take pity on his friend and picked up the still bouncing six-year-old, before he succeeded in making his father be sick. He placed the small child in his lap before beginning to tickle him mercilessly. Sam shrieked with laughter._

_John, no longer hampered by the bouncing Sammy immediately grabbed Dean and commenced his own tickle torture. Looking down at Dean, who was literally crying with laughter as he writhed, trying unsuccessfully to escape his Dad's tickling fingers, John was suddenly overwhelmed by the love he felt for the boy before him. He hoped that wherever Mary was she could see her two beautiful children and that she forgave him for the life he was slowly dragging them into._

Yet another memory invaded Dean's mind:

_Dean was twelve and Sam was eight. It was summer and it would be another 5 months before Sam's innocence about all things supernatural would be shattered by the child's impulsive decision to take and read his Dad's journal on Christmas Eve._

_John had finally given Dean permission to take Sam to the clearing without any adult supervision when he had turned eleven, as long as they told him they were going and when they'd be back._

_The two boys stood on the stream bank discussing how best to execute their plan. It had been Sam who had suggested building a dam, as he'd just read a book all about beavers. But it was Dean who was good at designing, building and spatial awareness. They spent two hours constructing their dam and then stood back to admire their handiwork._

_The following day, they virtually dragged their Dad down the path, desperate to show him their accomplishment._

"_Dean was soooo clever, Dad! He came up with the idea of interlocking the branches to stop them washing away."_

_Dean blushed at his little brother's praise._

_When they reached the edge of the clearing, they were forced to halt – the whole area was flooded! Dean took in the scene before him in dismay. He mentally kicked himself – he should have foreseen this! Of course, if you dammed a flow of water it would have to go somewhere! Sam on the other hand, just looked horrified._

_John was saddened by the disappointment on his boys' faces – they had been so proud! He was determined to cheer them up._

"_Congratulations, Boys!" he grinned, "You both did an amazing job!"_

_Dean looked at his father momentarily taken aback. He had half expected his Dad to be mad because of the mess they had made. "But it's all flooded," he pointed out hesitantly._

"_Yeah," agreed John still grinning, "that means your dam was really strong and it held. You could both be architects."_

"_What's an architect?" asked Sam._

"_It's someone whose job is to design buildings and bridges and things like that."_

"_Oh," said Sam looking thoughtful, "Well Dean would make a good architect then. I wouldn't 'cause he thought how to do it and I just did what he told me."_

"_Uh-uh, Sammy. I couldn't have done it without you." Dean turned back to their father. "What do we do now, Dad? We can't leave it like this…and I kinda want our pretty clearing back….this looks like a swamp!"_

_John laughed. "How about I help you boys disassemble your fantastic dam? The water should quickly drain away then. How's that sound?"_

_An hour and a half later, three extremely wet, muddy, but happy Winchesters made their way back to Bobby's._

"Dean? Is something wrong? You okay?"

Dean was brought back to the present, realising that Sam was not only looking at him worriedly, but was also shaking his arm to get his attention. Dean was distressed to feel the familiar prickling sensation at the back of his eyes. _Dammit! There was no way in hell he was gonna cry!_

He was furious that the memories could have such an impact on him. They had all been of happier times, before their Dad had told Sam the truth and it had all changed. They had all been _family _times. Remembering John Winchester in that way had literally torn his heart to shreds. _How he missed his Dad!_

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean insisted, needing to wipe away a stubborn escapee tear with the back of his hand, "the wind blew some grit in my eye is all."

"You sure?" Sam studied Dean's face intently. He found it a lot harder to read adult Dean's expressions than he had _his_ Dean's. For a moment though, Sam thought that the expression on adult Dean had resembled that of twelve-year-old Dean when he was trying hard not to cry. Sam shook his head. _That's stupid – adults don't cry unless someone has died _he thought.

"Course I'm sure, Squirt. Now go play," Dean plastered on a fake grin and propelled his brother towards the tree-house with a gentle swat to his backside.

Dean watched as Sam quickly clambered up the rungs nailed into the side of the tree trunk and climbed through the opening onto the wooden platform. He turned back to find Bobby studying him intently.

"What?"

"If you need to talk, son…" began Bobby gruffly.

Dean held up his hand and interrupted, "Oh no you don't! No chick flick moments….I'm just fine, in fact, I'm peachy."

Bobby gave him a disbelieving look, but didn't press. Instead, he changed the subject. "I couldn't tell you before 'cause Sam was always in earshot, but we may be able to contact a warlock…..now I don't want you to get your hopes up, Boy, 'cause it might amount to nothin'."

"What do you mean? None of the warlock lore I read explained how to get hold of one."

"Yeah well, I talked to someone who has first-hand experience. You know that one hunter I said survived after trying to hunt down a warlock? So..."

"Oh, freakin' great, let's just get hold of an _evil_ warlock shall we!"

Bobby slapped the back of Dean's head. Hard. He ignored Dean's indignant "Ouch!" and continued, "Now if you'd stop interrupting and jumping to conclusions, yah idjit, I'd be able to explain!"

"Sorry," muttered Dean, rubbing the back of his head.

"Well, the only reason Daniel Carter survived the encounter in the first place is 'cause his granddaddy had dealings with a 'good' warlock shall we say. I suppose I'd better start at the beginning, but I'll try and keep it simple….Grandpa Carter's wife was dying, she was also pregnant with their first child. All the doctors said there was no hope, but he was desperate to save her. Grandpa Carter was also a hunter, so he knew he could make a deal with a crossroads demon, but that would cost him his own soul and he knew his wife would never forgive him…."

Bobby paused, noting how Dean had unconsciously clenched his fists and had paled considerably at the mention of the crossroads demon. This told the older hunter that the boy before him had come to exactly the same conclusion that he had regarding his father's death – John Winchester had made some kind of deal to save his eldest. Dean's next words confirmed it.

"So he wasn't a selfish SOB then. Good for him! What happened next?"

"Well, he just put out the word out on the grapevine so to speak. He just spread the word to everyone he knew that he was looking for a cure for an illness – 'cause he hoped there might be a spell or summat out there that'd work – and asked them to mention it to everyone that they knew….you get the picture. So, a couple of weeks later, he gets a message saying that someone wants to meet him. By this point, his wife is literally at death's door and he's at the end of his tether. Anyway, it turns out that the person who contacted him was a warlock by the name of Philip Anderson…"

"Is he still alive? How can we get hold of him?"

"Boy, you're interrupting again!" Bobby silenced the younger hunter with a glare and continued, "So this Philip Anderson had heard Carter's plea for help and had come mainly because he was curious. Anyway, to cut a long story short, he did indeed cure the missus, but he also put a kind of blessing on her and her unborn child…a blessing that would protect down the generations, but which would unfortunately become watered down with each successive one. It was thanks to that blessing that young Daniel Carter survived his encounter with the less-than-friendly warlock that he hunted. The curse hurled at him should have killed him outright, but as it was, he was only badly injured. Unfortunately, the Carter family had no more dealings with Philip Anderson…he appeared to drop off the face of the Earth. But Daniel seems to think that if he _is_ still alive and we put out on the grapevine that we want to meet him as we need help with a problem, he might just make contact, partly because he'll be curious as to how we know who he is."

Dean was silent for a moment, thinking over Bobby's words. "It's worth a try I suppose….and it's the only lead we've got. We can't spread news about Sam's condition though – he's already a target for the demon population."

"I'm not daft, yah idjit, we'll just say we've got a problem and not what it is. So do you want me to go ahead and start the ripple effect in motion?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah….oh, and thanks Bobby."

"No need to thank me, your family, Boy," muttered Bobby gruffly, warmed by Dean's sincere gratitude.

Dean glanced up at the tree-house. "Sam's being very quiet….it makes me wonder what he's up to. Think I'd better go check."

As Dean made his way up the wooden rungs, he became aware of a strange scratching noise. _Just what was his brother doing? _As his head popped through the opening, he immediately spotted Sam carving something into the floor with a _very large, sharp pocket knife!_

Dean climbed through onto the platform and held out his hand. "Knife now, Sammy! You know better than to play with sharp things."

"But it's mine!" replied Sam petulantly, refusing to surrender the item in question, "It was in my duffle."

"That may be so and while adult you can have as many knives as he wants, you know full well that _you're_ not allowed to handle any weapon unsupervised."

Sam stubbornly kept hold of the knife.

Dean sighed. "Okay, Sammy, this is how it's gonna work. You're gonna give me the knife before I count to three or I'm gonna smack your bottom."

Sam glared at Dean, but didn't move.

Dean shrugged. "Your choice, Sammy. One….two…..thr….."

Sam thrust the pocket knife into Dean's outstretched hand with an indignant huff. "Fine! Have it!"

"Good choice, Sam," smirked Dean, "but if you break the no touching weapons rule again, I'll spank first and ask questions later."

"I hate you," muttered Sam, deliberately turning his back on his older brother.

Dean grinned and rolled his eyes. _His little brother had always been such a drama queen. _He climbed back down the makeshift ladder and returned to Bobby.

"So was he up to no good?" queried the older hunter.

"I'll say!" Dean held up the large pocket knife. "He was playing with this."

Bobby's eyes went wide and then he chuckled. "You've sure got your hands full with that one! But at least he's keeping you alert and on your toes."

Sam was never one to hold grudges, and by the time Dean and Bobby decided it was time to eat their picnic lunch, the boy was all smiles again.

"Dean! Do you remember the dam we made last summer? That was so cool!" Sam took a sip of his soda, "Remember Dad fell in the mud when we were breaking it down?"

"Yeah, I sure do, kiddo, although for me it was years ago, not last summer."

"It must be weird for you, huh?" pondered Sam thoughtfully, "I mean you must be used to adult me and not _me_ me."

Dean laughed. "Trust me, no matter how old you are you're still _Sam_, my pain-in-the-butt, geek little brother."

A short while later Dean called over to Sam, who was paddling in the stream. "Hey Sammy, you about ready? We're gonna head back to Bobby's soon."

Sam had his jeans rolled up to his knees so that they wouldn't get wet. He looked at Dean with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. "Sure, Dean, I'm ready. Can you come here for a minute though, 'cause I wanna show you something."

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean moved over to the edge of the stream.

Before Dean realised what was happening, his little brother had reached out, grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the stream. As Dean's feet landed on the slimy rocks however, they slid out from under him, causing him to fall backwards and he landed with a loud splash on his backside. In this position, the water was up to his waist

Sam was literally doubled up with laughter and when Dean glanced towards the bank, he saw Bobby guffawing away as well. He shook his head in amusement, before struggling to his feet, his wet jeans sticking to him uncomfortably.

"You are so gonna pay for that, junior!" Dean lunged for Sam and Sam fled, still laughing.

After chasing Sam around the clearing for nearly fifteen minutes, Dean called for a rain-check. Sam's long legs gave him an extra burst of speed to begin with and Dean's movements were severely hampered due to the wet, heavy, clinging denim.

"This isn't over, buddy-boy," grinned Dean, "Don't you worry, I'll get my revenge."

Late that afternoon, Dean decided to do some training with Sam. His father had always explained away training as 'self-defence' until he had told his youngest the truth about hunting. As a result, in the beginning, John had taught his son only defensive moves and not offensive ones.

Unsure of how much Sam had actually learned by the age of eight, Dean had got him to demonstrate some of what he knew.

"That's really good, Sammy. You know a lot. I think I'll teach you how to leg sweep, 'cause that's real useful if someone's got hold of you and you need to get away."

Sam listened carefully as Dean described the move and explained the result – the person would literally be swept off their feet.

"I'm gonna do it to you, Sammy, so you can see how it works. Okay?"

Sam took a step backwards away from Dean. "But if you swing your foot at me, you'll kick me."

"No, I won't Sam. I swear. The angle of my foot and the speed means I'll knock your feet out from under you, not kick you."

"But then I'll fall over." Sam eyed the hard, dirt-covered ground fretfully.

"I won't let you fall. I promise. I'll catch you."

"You promise?"

Dean nodded and Sam stepped forward. "Okay then," he agreed hesitantly.

True to his word, Dean, after sweeping Sam's legs out from under him caught him easily under the armpits and hauled him back to his feet before his little brother hit the ground. He repeated the manoeuvre three times, giving Sam different pointers each time. He then got Sam to practise the movements himself in slow motion, gradually speeding up each time. Once Dean was satisfied with the progress, he turned to Sam.

"Okay, kiddo, time to try it out for real this time. It's your turn to sweep _my _legs out from under me."

"But what if I do it wrong?" Sam turned wide eyes on his brother.

"You'll do fine," assured Dean.

"But you'll fall over, 'cause I won't be quick enough to catch you."

"Doesn't matter…Dad taught me how to fall without hurting myself, so you don't need to worry."

Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second before committing to the manoeuvre, not wanting to hurt his big brother and that was his undoing. Instead of sweeping Dean's feet, Sam's foot connected solidly and painfully with his brother's shin. The final result was the same however, as Dean went down with a grunt of pain. Hard!

Sam looked at his fallen brother clutching his leg with horror.

"Dean, I'm so so sorry," he sniffled, tears beginning to fall, "I didn't m-mean to hurt y-you."

Dean hauled himself to his feet, deliberately pushing aside and ignoring the fierce pain in his shin – he had a distraught little brother to comfort. Nothing else mattered.

"Hey, Sammy, shhh," he soothed, pulling the tall boy into an embrace, "I'm okay, nothing to worry about, Tiger."

"But I h-hurt you," he murmured brokenly, his head now buried in Dean's shoulder.

"Nah, I'm fine and that was brilliant for a first attempt."

Sam pulled back slightly and looked at Dean in disbelief. "It sucked!" he contradicted.

Dean reached out and gently thumbed the tears from Sam's cheeks.

"No it didn't and you can't argue with the teacher remember. And besides, what you just did would work just as well as a proper leg sweep anyway."

"You're really okay?" questioned Sam.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sammy."

After the leg sweep incident, Sam didn't want to train any more that afternoon. Remembering that he was determined to keep training fun and not have it become a chore, Dean didn't press the issue. Secretly, he was also relieved as his shin was absolutely killing him! Sam might be mentally age eight, but he had the strength of an adult male who worked out!

That evening, when Sam went up to bed, Dean held up his finger to Bobby with a grin. "Wait for it."

"Wait for what?" asked Bobby puzzled, taking in the mischievous smirk on Dean's face.

A few minutes later, the frustrated whine came from upstairs. "Deeeeeeean!"

"Okay, what'd you do?" asked Bobby shaking his head.

"Folded his sheet in half, so he can't get into bed without remaking it," laughed Dean, "One to Dean Winchester!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**** I'd like to thank everyone who has tagged this story or reviewed it – it's thanks to you guys that I'm updating as frequently as I am, as it's giving me the incentive to get off my backside and write! An especially big thank you goes to those who are constantly reviewing, because that lets me know people are still reading and haven't got fed up of it yet.**

**Chapter 8:**

As Dean rolled out of bed the next morning, his eyes fell on Sam's duffle bag at the bottom of his bed. Remembering the pocket-knife incident of the day before, he thought it a good idea to check what else his sasquatch of a little brother carried around in it.

He quietly moved over to Sam's bed and looked down fondly at the sleeping boy. At some point during the night, the kid had managed to end up with the bedclothes tangled around his ankles. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to disentangle them without waking him up, Dean retrieved a blanket from his own bed and covered Sam with it. The boy mumbled something in his sleep, but quietened when Dean ran his hand gently through his long bangs. Glancing down, he spotted Digger on the floor – the bedclothes not being the only casualty of Sam's restless sleeping patterns. Dean retrieved the toy dog and slipped it carefully back under the covers. He smiled when Sam reflexively curled his arm around the stuffed toy, hugging it to him. He had no idea where the kid was hiding it during the day, because there was never any sign of it on Sam's neatly made bed.

After showering and dressing, Dean hoisted Sam's duffle to his shoulder and carried it downstairs. He greeted Bobby, who was busy scrambling some eggs in a bowl, before setting the bag down on the table and beginning to rummage through its contents.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Bobby after pouring his mixture into a large frying pan and leaving it to cook for a minute.

"After yesterday's episode with that darn pocket-knife, I thought I'd better check what else is in here."

A few minutes later, Dean was staring down in horror at the .45 (which thankfully wasn't loaded!), a box of bullets for it and a 12 inch hunting knife. There was also an in-depth book about the occult that Sam had borrowed from Bobby's collection a few months ago.

"Some parent I'm turning out to be!" he berated himself. He couldn't get the image of Sam accidentally shooting himself or falling on the wickedly sharp, serrated blade out of his head.

Bobby took in the self-recrimination on the younger hunter's face and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Now hang on there, Boy, you're a better parent to that kid than your Dad ever was…"

Dean opened his mouth to argue and defend his father, but shut it again at Bobby's menacing glare.

"….now I know you don't agree and I don't wanna discuss your old man's parenting skills right now, but I'm not letting you get all worked up over this. We have a unique situation here….there's no way in hell you could have foreseen an adult reverting to be a child and so things _are_ gonna crop up, mistakes _are_ gonna be made and we're just gonna learn from 'em and move on. Besides which, young Sam is far from innocent in this…he's eight, not two and he knows better! He knows full well he wouldn't be allowed to keep those weapons and should have given them to you. Your daddy would have blistered his butt good for the stunt he pulled yesterday."

At that moment, a yawning Sam entered the kitchen, still in his sleepwear and with his floppy hair sticking out at all angles as was the morning norm these days. He stopped when he saw the contents of his duffle scattered all over the table.

"You've been through my stuff!" he cried indignantly, "Ever heard of the word _privacy_, Dean? How would you like it if I went through _your _stuff?"

Sam immediately stopped his rant on hearing his brother's next words.

Dean held up the gun and hunting knife. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tan your hide right now, Sammy."

Sam unconsciously turned on his pleading puppy-dog eyes. "Please, Dean, you can't. It wouldn't be fair. You said yesterday you'd spank me if I touched another weapon after that, but I haven't touched them since then, I swear."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. Sam's words had confirmed his worst fears – that meant that the kid had indeed handled the items in question.

"Okay, Sammy, come here. I want to talk to you."

Sam obediently trotted over, his puppy-dog eyes working overtime, while keeping a watchful eye on his brother's right hand.

Dean placed both hands on his brother's shoulders, meeting and holding Sam's gaze with his own. He spoke seriously. "Okay, Sammy, I know some things must be really confusing for you right now. I know everything around you's different. But even though you have an adult's body, you're just a little kid…."

"I'm not little," muttered Sam petulantly, "I'm not like five."

Dean laughed. "No you're not five, but to me you are still a little kid. Maybe I'll class you as a big kid when you're say…..twelve." Dean ignored Sam's resulting huff and continued, "You're eight-years-old, Sam, and I wanna reinforce to you that _all_ the rules that Dad gave you are still in place, in spite of everything that's changed around you. And if you break those rules there are gonna be consequences. You understand, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, not prepared to disagree while he was still within swatting distance, though he was wearing a distinctly sulky expression.

"And no sulking allowed either," grinned Dean, pulling Sam into a hug and ruffling his sleep-mussed hair.

"Stop it, Dean," groused Sam, trying to duck his head away from his brother's hand, but was unable to prevent the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

"If you two girls have quite finished," interrupted Bobby gruffly, "breakfast's nearly ready. Now seeing as you're the one that tipped Sam's stuff everywhere, Dean, I think it's only fair you put it back and while Dean's doin' that, you can help me butter the toast, Sam."

"What would you like to do today, Sam?" asked Dean a short while later, as he finished up his scrambled eggs.

Sam glanced shyly at Bobby. "Errr, Uncle Bobby, I was wondering if you had a library card I could borrow? I'd like to take out some non-fiction books on looking after goldfish and I'll have finished the books Dean bought me soon too."

"Sure thing, kid, I'll dig it out for you," replied the grizzled hunter with a smile.

"Will you take me to the library, Dean….please?" Sam turned and looked beseechingly at his big brother.

"Course, Sammy, we'll go after breakfast." For someone who absolutely detested libraries, Dean sure had spent an awful lot of time in them – they were one of his baby brother's favourite places and with their often absentee father, Dean had usually been the one lumbered with the job of taking him. Not that he really minded – he'd do pretty much anything if it made Sam happy.

After breakfast, Sam went upstairs to get dressed and Bobby and Dean moved into the sitting room.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam came into the room, fully dressed apart from the sneakers he was carrying in his hand. He sat down next to his brother, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Dean, is it normal for your feet to grow a lot overnight?"

Bobby looked up from the book he was reading in surprise. _Where on Earth had that question come from?_

"What do you mean by a lot?" asked Dean seriously, "As far as I know feet only grow slowly. Why?"

"Oh." Sam stared steadily down at his sock-clad feet. "So my feet don't look bigger to you then?"

Dean glanced at Sam's feet and then back up to his face. "Errr, Sammy, your adult body is fully grown now, which is a relief seeing as you're so freakishly tall already, so your feet have stopped growing too."

"But…" Sam studied his feet intently once more.

"But what, Sammy?" prompted Dean, looking concerned, "Is something the matter?"

Sam's expression clouded for a moment and then suddenly cleared as a grin spread across his face. "No, it's okay, Dean, I've just figured out what must have happened."

"And that is?" questioned Dean, looking perplexed, "You're not making any sense, Sammy."

"My sneakers have shrunk," he announced as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "The water from when I paddled in the stream yesterday must have made 'em shrink."

Dean couldn't keep up the act any longer and began snorting with laughter.

Sam watched his doubled up brother in bewilderment_. How was this so funny? Now he would need a new pair and that would cost money._

Bobby looked from the nonplussed Sam to the snorting Dean and back again. _Something was going on here_.

"Sam," questioned the older hunter, "why do you think they've shrunk? Do they look smaller to you?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Uncle Bobby, but they don't fit me anymore and they fit perfectly yesterday."

Dean was finally managing to get a handle on himself and was busy wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Errr, Sam, you might wanna check there's nothing been put inside your shoes," suggested Bobby gruffly.

"What do you mean?" asked the puzzled youngest Winchester, reaching inside one sneaker. He didn't need an answer however, as a moment later he pulled out a wad of tissue paper that had been wedged in the toe area.

"Dean, you jerk!" Sam punched his older brother on the arm before removing the wad of paper from the other shoe.

"Hey, all's fair in love and war…or should we say prank wars," replied Dean with a smirk.

**Supernatural~time break~Supernatural~time break~Supernatural**

Dean sat on a leather chair thoroughly bored. They'd been at the library for half an hour now. Sam had been perusing the shelves in the children's section and now reappeared with an armload of books. He waved to Dean before sitting down cross-legged on the brightly coloured beanbags in the kiddie reading area to have another look at his chosen books and decide which ones to take out on Bobby's ticket.

A woman in a smart green suit seated herself in the chair next to Dean's.

"You really deserve a medal you know," she said.

_Huh? _"Sorry?" questioned Dean, looking at the woman politely. _Did she think he was someone else?_

"Looking after your handicapped brother like that, it must be really hard work. A lot of people would understandably just have put him in an institution."

At Dean's blank stare, she continued, "I'm guessing he's your brother anyway, because I can see the family resemblance. Me and my daughter bumped into him in one of the aisles and I struck up a conversation with him, thinking that he was picking out books for his child. Well he told me most politely that he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, though he was willing to talk to my daughter, Katie, she's nine. I realised right away then that he was, you know _special_."

Dean couldn't think of anything to say to this that wouldn't be outright insulting, and he knew Sam would be mortified if he caused a scene in the library, so he settled instead for replying only to her first comment. "Excuse me lady, but family's all that matters! I don't deserve a medal for looking after my brother and I definitely don't think it would be _understandable_ to put him in an institution. Anyone who shirks family responsibility doesn't deserve to have one!"

Sam glanced up from his pile of books. Dean was talking to the lady in the green suit who had tried to talk to him in the aisle earlier. As Sam watched, she stood up rather abruptly and walked off looking rather offended. _What could Dean have said to her?_ He shrugged to himself and glanced back down at the book he held: _Practical Jokes for all Occasions! _He quickly continued reading, trying to memorise as many pranks as possible. Sam had no intentions of actually taking the book out, as he suspected that Dean would show a brotherly interest and expect to see the books that he had chosen.

Dean glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time and sighed. Sam was still ensconced on his beanbag, though he seemed to have nearly finished sorting his books into two piles. A moment later, he was pleased when Sam trotted over.

"You all finished, Tiger?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, Dean, I got two books on goldfish, a book on training dogs 'cause Buster still can't fetch, some adventure stories and a ghost story. I was wondering if I could maybe have a look in the adult section before we go, 'cause I can take out grown-up books on Uncle Bobby's ticket you know?"

Dean shook his head. "Uh-uh, Sammy, adult books are for _adults_."

"But I'm a good reader! My teacher said I'm very advanced for my age. And it'd help my vocabulary 'cause any big words I don't understand I could look up in a dictionary."

Dean was amused. _How many other eight-year-olds would think about their vocabulary and use a dictionary by choice? _"It's not just the words, Sammy, it's 'cause adult books have adult themes in them."

"What do you mean, Dean?"

_Trust Sammy to always be asking questions!_ There was no way Dean was going to even mention the word _sex!_ "Errr, they've got like lots of violence and really scary stuff in them. They'd give kids nightmares."

"I already have nightmares," pointed out Sam reasonably.

"Yeah, and we don't want them getting any worse now do we?" Dean gave his brother a gentle push towards the book checkout area.

Once back at Bobby's, Sam ran outside to play with Buster, the book on dog training clutched in his hand. Dean immediately joined Bobby in the autoshop, determined to earn his and Sam's keep.

It was nearing lunchtime, when Sam hurtled into the area calling urgently for Dean. Bobby had already returned to the cabin a short while ago to prepare the meal.

Worried that something was up, Dean extricated himself from under the car that he was working on so quickly that he almost cracked his head on the fender.

"You okay, Sammy?" he questioned worriedly. Dean immediately relaxed upon seeing Sam's wide, dimpled grin.

"Yeah, Dean. You know you're totally amazing at mending things, right? Well, I found something and I was hoping you'd fix it for me. I'm sure Uncle Bobby won't mind, because it's just lying around and he can't be using it 'cause it's broken."

Dean was curious and stood up and followed his exited sibling. "What have you found Sammy? And how do you know I can fix it?"

Sam answered the second question first. "Because you can fix anything Dean. Even when you were really a kid like me you were always helping Dad and Uncle Bobby fix the cars and weapons and stuff. So now you're grown-up, you must be even better. I know you can do it."

Dean was humbled by the pure, simple faith that his younger brother had in him and hoped against hope that he could fix whatever it was that Sammy had found and wouldn't let him down.

Sam continued prattling on. "I know we kept our bikes here when we were staying in motel rooms instead of having an apartment or house. I thought maybe with being grown up, that they might have been thrown away, but they're still there Dean. But I'm too big to ride on 'em….even yours, which I used to think was gigantic, is too small for me." Sam's face fell a little as he said this.

Dean really hoped that his little brother didn't somehow expect him to make the bikes bigger! "How do you want me to help, Tiger?"

Sam brightened again. "There's an adult's bike in the shed too, but the front wheel is all bent and the brake wire thingys are snapped. Oh, and the tyres are flat. But it has gears, Dean! Actual gears!"

Dean shook his head at the kid's enthusiasm. "Okay, let's take a look at this thing, but I'm not making any promises, okay?"

Sam nodded, confident that his brother could fix it. After examining the bike thoroughly, Dean was relieved to find that he too was confident that he would actually be able to return the bicycle to working order.

Dean glanced at his watch. "Okay, kiddo, I'll start on it after lunch. We'd better get back or Bobby's gonna lecture us about keeping good food waiting."

Sam skipped all the way back to the house. Dean followed at a more sedate pace.

After a delicious lunch, Bobby stood up and started gathering the dirty plates together before carrying them over to the sink.

Sam froze. "Uncle Bobby, Dean always does the dishes after lunch and then I dry 'em."

Bobby turned to the youngster and smiled. "Yeah, but I thought you'd want Dean to get started on that bike you told me about right away. You two can do the dishes later instead." He turned back to the sink and reached for the faucet.

Sam's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something. Whatever it was, remained unsaid as Bobby turned on the tap. Water sprayed everywhere! Bobby was so taken aback that he didn't have the presence of mind to turn the faucet off for a couple of seconds, by which point, he was totally drenched. As he finally fumbled to turn the tap off, he noticed the elastic band that had been wrapped around the end to interrupt the flow.

He turned back to the table, pulling off his soaking baseball cap and fixed a stern look on the youngest Winchester who was trying to slide down further into his chair and disappear – a feat that was made decidedly impossible with his six foot four frame.

Dean was snorting with laughter. "I take it that was meant for me, Junior?"

Sam had his pleading puppy-dog look fixed firmly in place. He didn't want to get yelled at. "I'm really really sorry, Uncle Bobby. I didn't mean to wet _you_. Please don't be mad."

Dean's grin widened even further at his brother's obvious discomfort, not to mention the amusing picture of his grizzled father-figure dripping wet. "Pretty good prank you thought of there Sammy-boy."

Bobby knew that he was helpless under that beseeching, kicked-puppy gaze and struggled to keep up the disapproving exterior. He managed to keep up the act just long enough to bark, "You will get a cloth and a mop and clean that up right now, young man!" He indicated the soaked counter-top and considerable puddle on the floor with a sweep of his hand.

Sam stood up meekly to comply and Bobby turned to leave the room in order to change into some dry clothes. He was unable to keep the grin off his face any longer. This wasn't the first time that he had been caught in the cross-fire of their prank wars and somehow, he doubted it would be the last.

Sam cast a glare in Dean's direction as he cleaned up the mess. His older brother was still chuckling. "It's not funny," he pouted.

"Oh, trust me, kiddo, from where I was sitting it was plenty funny! Your's and Bobby's face was a right picture. As pranks go, that was a right good 'un….and even better, I'm still dry," smirked Dean.

Bobby spent the afternoon making more phone calls to all of his contacts, having already made a considerable number the night before. After replacing the receiver for the last time, he paused and offered up a quick prayer to the God that Pastor Jim had had unswerving faith in right up until the end. Bobby himself wasn't sure if he believed in a higher power or not, but he knew that finding the warlock was a long shot and they needed all the help that they could get!

Figuring the boys could do with some refreshments, Bobby grabbed some cans of soda from the refrigerator and a couple of bags of potato chips, before heading outside. The Winchester boys were thoroughly engrossed in their tasks when the older hunter approached. Bobby paused for a moment to watch. Dean was sitting on a small stool that he had evidently retrieved from the autoshop and was busy replacing the front brake cable, while Sam was sitting cross-legged on the floor pumping up the newly patched front tyre.

Dean glanced up and saw Bobby approaching. The older hunter was surprised when the eldest Winchester jumped up and hurried over to relieve him of the refreshments.

"I'd have brought them to yah, yah idjit."

"I know," grinned Dean, "I just thought I'd save your legs, you know, with you getting' on in life and all." Dean just ducked in time to avoid the slap aimed at the back of his head.

Sam looked up from his pumping and watched as Bobby turned and made his way back towards the house. Dean stayed where he was for another minute, apparently watching the older hunter's retreat or so Sam assumed.

"Dean?" he called.

Dean turned around and started back towards the disassembled bicycle. "Coming, Sammy…Bobby brought gifts." He handed his younger brother a can of soda and a packet of potato chips.

Sam didn't notice that as soon as Dean had handed over the refreshments he quickly moved well away from where he was sitting. It was an extremely warm day and the boy was thirsty, so he immediately reached for the ring-pull. The fizzy soda erupted like a volcano, the majority of it catching Sam right in the face. He spluttered, snapping his eyes shut against the stinging liquid and dropped the can to the ground.

Dean snorted with laughter as he watched his little brother shaking his head frantically and rubbing the back of his hands across his eyes.

"You shook it!" Sam accused, finally raising his head and glaring at his brother.

"Guilty as charged," smirked Dean, "You were gonna wet me earlier and great minds think alike, so I returned the favour."

"I was gonna wet you with _water_," spluttered Sam indignantly, "You've made me all sticky!" He gave his laughing brother another glare as he stomped off towards the house to change his t-shirt and dry off.

"Three to Dean Winchester," muttered the hunter, still grinning, as he turned back to the bike.

Dean had to bite back another laugh when his sibling returned ten minutes later. Even though he had dried it as best he could with a towel, the front section of Sam's hair was plastered to his forehead in random clumps.

"Hey, Sammy, you really should go easy on the hair gel," he teased.

Sam unexpectedly grinned back. "Oh, don't worry, I'll get you back, Dean!"

An hour and a half later, the repairs were finished and the bike reassembled. Dean watched affectionately as his excited baby brother clambered on board and pushed off. As he pedalled, Sam immediately began to shift the gear leavers, keen to discover what they did.

"Remember you're not allowed to leave the yard!" Dean called after him.

"I won't. Thanks for fixing it Dean….you're the best!" Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother as he sped down the drive, a full-dimpled grin fixed in place.

"Look where you're going!" Dean shook his head in amusement and after replacing all of the tools that he had used, he made his way back up to Bobby's.

An hour later, Dean came out onto the porch to call Sam in for supper. The tall boy came flying round the corner on his new bike. Dean felt his heart constrict at how happy he looked. Sam braked hard, but flung himself off the side before the bike had even come to a standstill.

"Hey, Dean, the gears are cool, man. Maybe I could ride it to sch…" Sam's face suddenly fell.

"Ride it where, Sammy?" Dean was concerned by the abrupt change of mood.

"I was gonna say school," murmured Sam softly, shoulders slumped as he stared down at his feet, "but I can't go to school can I, Dean, not looking like this? I'm gonna be a really thick adult if I don't get taught anything."

Dean stared at the despondent stance of his sibling. This was yet another complication that he had not even considered. If someone had told _him_ at age eight that he no longer had to go to school he would have thrown a party! But not Sam, Sammy loved school. In the worst case scenario, that being, that they couldn't reverse the curse, the kid _would_ need to be educated.

"Don't worry, Sammy, when the new semester starts, we'll home-school you." _Surely Bobby could forge the necessary papers to enrol him?_

Sam finally looked up and met Dean's warm, green gaze. "Really?" he asked hopefully, "I'd really like to keep on learning."

"Sure thing, kiddo." Dean looped an arm around Sam's shoulders as they went inside.

**Elsewhere in an abandoned factory:**

Jason Wentworth watched disinterestedly as the girl writhed in agony on the factory floor. The man standing over her pressed the red-hot poker against her exposed skin once more and her agonised scream cut through the air. Jason's eyes flashed black momentarily as he turned to the red-headed woman standing next to him.

"So should we try and take the Winchester boy? He is no longer a threat."

Jeannette Leaver considered for a moment before answering. "Much as I would like to, I still think it's too risky. _He_ might not be a threat, but we could only take him if he was somehow separated from the older one. Now you might want to take on the infamous Dean Winchester, but I most certainly do not."

"I suppose you're right," admitted Jason reluctantly, "I'd love to get my hands on them though….their father sent a partner of mine back to hell a couple of years ago."

Jeanette nodded, her own eyes flashing to black. "Rumour has it that old John Winchester is being given special treatment down there. I've heard that Alistair himself has been called into service to try and break him. I don't understand why one measly hunter is of such interest though."

Jason nodded towards the girl who was now passed out on the floor. "What have we found out about this one?"

"She's telekinetic, but as yet has absolutely no control over her power. Torture has not made it manifest either." Jeanette's tone betrayed her frustration. "There's just no pattern! The last one, the one who could start fires, _did _display their ability when pain was inflicted. I don't understand why all the abilities are different either. Just what was Azazel doing?"

**Back at Bobby's:**

After supper, the two older hunters did the dishes while Sam went up and had a bath. So far, the boy had taken to bathing in the mornings – after breakfast, but before he got dressed. However, with the earlier soda incident his hair was a sticky, matted mess and needed washing.

When Sam came back downstairs in his sleepwear, Dean and Bobby left him sprawled on his stomach on the sitting room carpet doing a jigsaw, while they went into the library. Bobby had gotten a call from a hunter in England requesting some information on water sprites. Dean was determined to repay the older hunter for his ongoing hospitality in any way that he could – even hitting the books to help with research, which had always been Sam's speciality.

After a while, Bobby spoke up. "Okay, kid, what's on your mind?"

Dean looked up startled. "What makes you think I've got something on my mind?"

"Oh, nothin', other than that you've been starin' at that same page for ten minutes now."

Dean looked sheepish. "Sam mentioned school before and it kinda got me thinkin' about what I'll have to do if this warlock hunt turns out to be a dead end. I mean I can't hunt with a child in tow….I know Dad did, but I'm not prepared to do that to Sammy. I'll have to find a place to live and get a regular job."

"Now listen here, Boy," replied Bobby gruffly, "you can both stay right here with me. You're a darn good mechanic, Dean, and you could set up business here while I concentrate on the salvage stuff."

Dean shook his head. "It's not that I don't appreciate you offering, Bobby, but we couldn't put you out like that…we'd be a burden."

"You wouldn't be a burden! I'd love to have you here….you boys are family! Besides which, you liven my life up no end."

Dean studied the face of the hunter who to all intents and purposes was like a father to him, to try and ascertain if he was telling the truth or just being kind. Reading the open sincerity on Bobby's face made a lump rise unbidden in his throat.

Dean swallowed around the lump before he was able to reply. "If you're sure, Bobby, we'd be eternally in your debt."

"Of course I'm sure, you idjit," he muttered before turning back to the text he was reading.

Dean stood up and stretched. "I'll just go check what Sammy's up to. He's awfully quiet, I thought he'd have come pestering us by now."

Dean paused in the sitting room doorway. Sam was no longer on the floor, he was now sitting, curled in on himself on the sofa, clutching something in his hand. Dean was about to step into the room when he heard the sniffle. At the same time he saw Sam drag the back of his hand across his eyes, evidently wiping away tears.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean's tone was gentle, concerned as he moved into the room. "What's up, Tiger?"

Sam started at Dean's voice and shoved whatever he was holding under the cushion. "Nothing's up, Dean. I wasn't crying! I'm fine."

"Whoa, kiddo." Dean held up his hands placatingly and moved to sit beside his little brother. "I never said you were crying…..you just look a little down is all."

"No, I'm fine," insisted Sam.

Dean had heard the slight tremor in the boy's voice and took note of the wet eyelashes – his little brother most definitely was _not_ fine. He tried again, "You know you can tell me anything right? Anything at all?"

Sam nodded, "Uh-huh, I know."

"So there's nothing worrying you that you'd like to tell me now then?" Dean pressed.

This time Sam shook his head. "No, I'm good."

Dean contemplated the younger boy for a moment. _Adult_ Sam, he would allow to keep things to himself, trusting that he would be able to deal with them on his own, but if something was bad enough to make eight-year-old Sam cry, he wasn't prepared to let it go. Wondering if the object that Sam had thrust under the cushion might shed any light on the matter, he reached for it.

"No, Dean!" Sam tried to stop him by grabbing hold of his arm.

Dean simply moved with a hunter's lightning speed, using his other arm instead to retrieve the object. He found himself looking down at a photograph that belonged to Bobby. In it, John Winchester was sitting on the hood of the Impala with a young Sam in his lap and he was sitting on the hood next to his father. A lightbulb went on in Dean's head.

"You miss Dad." It was a statement, not a question.

Sam was unable to hold back the tears that he had been fighting any longer and his face crumpled as they began to trickle down his cheeks.

"Yeah, I kn-know it's stupid a-and you must th-think I'm a b-baby, but I want D-dad."

"Oh, Sammy," Dean murmured, pulling the boy into a hug. Sam immediately buried his face in his big brother's chest and Dean dropped his chin onto the tousled, damp brown hair. "I don't think you're a baby," he soothed, "You're just not used to him not being here." _And neither am I!_

Sam sniffled and turned his head, resting his cheek on Dean's broad chest. "H-he'd already been g-gone three days when I w-woke up as an a-adult and he w-was supposed to be b-back the next m-morning. H-how much longer 'til he g-gets back f-from hunting the cockatrice?"

Dean ignored the iron fist that was squeezing his heart and kept his voice steady. _He had to be strong for Sammy!_ "I don't know, Tiger. It could be a while yet." He began to card one hand gently through Sam's damp bangs and unconsciously began to rock, desperate to bring comfort to his distressed sibling.

"Do y-you think he's thinking of us a-and missing us?" Sam's tear-filled eyes searched Dean's.

"Of course, kiddo. He loves us and will contact us just as soon as he can."

"So y-you're not worried th-that the cockatrice might h-have hurt him?" Sam's gaze remained fixed on Dean's, desperately seeking reassurance.

Dean swallowed and forced a grin to his face. "Dad's a super hero, remember? Nothing's going to get Dad." _Except for a friggin' demon deal!_

Sam nodded and snuggled back into Dean's chest, still needing the physical comfort that his brother provided. Dean reached over and picked up the remote to flick on the TV, before recommencing stroking his brother's hair. Fifteen minutes later, Dean was relieved that his ministrations had finally soothed the kid – Sam's sniffles had stopped and he was now engrossed in a documentary about penguins, though he was yet to leave the safety of his big brother's arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**** A special thanks to The Banana Nut Muffin for giving me the idea for one of these pranks a while back.**

**Chapter 9:**

Dean sat on the edge of his bed watching Sam sleep. It had been just over three weeks since Bobby had set the ripple effect in motion, but so far, it had yielded no results.

During that time, Sam had sidled up to him twice and asked with superficial casualness if Dean was worried because they hadn't heard from their Dad yet and each time, Dean had reassured him that since they were now both adults it wasn't uncommon for John Winchester to be out of contact for this long when on a complicated hunt. Sam had searched Dean's face intently each time as if to ensure himself that his brother was telling the truth. Dean was eternally thankful that he was such a great poker player and that his Dad had taught him to lie so efficiently, because Sam had luckily seemed to buy what he was saying. If the kid had become upset over it again since the night he'd looked at the photograph, then he was doing it when he wasn't in Dean's presence.

Altogether, Sam had now been eight-years-old for an entire month and Dean was beginning to force himself to face up to the idea that he would most likely have to bring up Sam for a second time, only this time around, alone and without his father's help. Much about that deeply troubled him, including what to do about the absent John Winchester. He knew he couldn't keep up the hunt pretence forever, but how could he tell the child that his dad was dead and rotting in hell?

Dean passed a hand wearily over his eyes. He'd worry about that later, when he had to. He climbed into bed and switched off the bedside lamp, wondering as he did each night if Sam would sleep through nightmare free. In the last three weeks, the kid had suffered another four nightmares and on two of those occasions had ended up yet again in Dean's bed. As a result, Bobby had in fact invested in a new guest bed, which would be arriving in the morning. This made Dean wonder if Bobby too had accepted the inevitable – that they wouldn't be able to cure Sam – even though he was always outwardly optimistic.

To Dean, it seemed only a short while later when he awoke. He didn't open his eyes straight away, but something didn't feel quite right – he could feel a strange sensation on the skin of his face. It wasn't unpleasant exactly, just different. Then he heard a smothered giggle. He would know that sound anywhere and it meant that Sam was up to no good.

Dean blinked and opened his eyes. Sam's humungous form sitting on the edge of his bed slowly swam into focus. There was also pale sunlight glinting through the curtains, which told Dean that although it was obviously very early, it was definitely morning.

"Hi, Dean. Sleep well?" queried Sam, innocence written all over his young face.

"Uh-huh," Dean propped himself up on one elbow. "What're you doin' up so early?"

Sam shrugged. "Just woke up early."

Dean swung his legs out of bed and sat up, unconsciously running his hand through his short, dark blond hair. Almost immediately, he jerked his hand away and looked at it in surprise – it was covered in white shaving foam.

"Eeergh! What'd you do, runt?" Dean climbed out of bed and pushed past his now cackling sibling to get to the bathroom and survey the damage. Once in front of the mirror, Dean was unable to keep the grin off his own face – he looked ridiculous! Not only was his hair covered in the white stuff, but he had random blobs of it all over his face too. He turned to see a giggling Sam leaning against the bathroom doorframe.

"Not bad, Sammy," he praised with a roguish grin, "you gonna go down and find Bobby while I take a shower?"

Sam, still laughing, shook his head. "Uh-uh, I'll read for a while and wait for you." The boy started back down the hall towards the bedroom, but as soon as Dean shut the bathroom door behind him, Sam returned and pressed his ear to the door, grinning from ear to ear.

Dean undressed and stepped under the shower. He reached for the shower gel with one hand and turned on the water with the other. Dean gave an involuntary yelp as bright red liquid cascaded over him. A split second later, he flung himself bodily from the shower. He had been around the supernatural for so long that his automatic assumption was that it was blood – he knew that a number of spells, curses and also omens involved turning water into blood. His heart was beating fast as he looked around for any sign of a threat. Seeing none, he stepped closer to the shower and peered cautiously at the red liquid as it swirled down the drain.

"What the hell?" he muttered, noticing for the first time a decidedly fruity aroma. An idea popped into his head and he reached out and held his hand under the flowing liquid, which was slowly fading in colour. After catching some of the 'blood' in his cupped hand, Dean brought it up to his nose and sniffed. He then dipped a finger in the liquid and praying that his guess was right and he wasn't indeed about to become some kind of vampire, he put it in his mouth and tasted it. Kool Aid – he'd recognise that tangy, powdery taste anywhere! This had baby brother written all over it, though Dean was certain that Sam must have done some research, because he'd never have come up with the idea of putting Kool Aid in the shower head on his own.

Knowing that Sam would be nearby to witness the effects of his prank, Dean wrapped a towel around his waist and wrenched open the door. He didn't expect his brother to actually be leaning on the door however and when he opened it, Sam literally fell into the room. In fact, he would have face-planted on the hard, tiled floor if Dean hadn't had the presence of mind (and the reflexes!) to catch him.

After setting his gargantuan sibling gently back on his feet, Dean stepped back and stared at Sam, deliberately keeping his gaze neutral. Sam held Dean's gaze for a moment, before dropping his eyes to his feet and beginning to fiddle with the hem of his sleep t-shirt.

"Are you mad at me?"

Dean decided to let his anxious little brother of the hook. "No, Sammy, I'm impressed! You've been very busy this morning. I'm amazed you managed to get up so early to set them up though."

Sam looked up through his bangs, taking in Dean's broad grin and twinkling green eyes. He relaxed and a slow dimpled smile lit up his own features. "I put an alarm clock under my pillow so it wouldn't wake you when it went off. So they were good then?"

Dean nodded and winked. "Yeah, kiddo, they were very creative. You've obviously been taking lessons from the expert….me! You do realise I'm gonna have to get you back now though, right?"

Sam smirked. "Well Big Bro, I've got plenty more for you too."

"Glad to hear it," grinned Dean, glancing back at the running shower. Seeing that the water was now running clear, having dissolved all of the Kool Aid, he gave Sam a gentle push out of the room. "Now scoot, while I have a shower."

Twenty minutes later when Dean entered the kitchen, there was no sign of Bobby. Sam was sitting at the table munching on toast, having already finished a bowl of Lucky Charms. He poured himself a cup of coffee and seated himself across from Sam, helping himself to a slice of toast from the plate in the middle of the table.

"Where's, Bobby?"

"He went to answer the phone."

At that moment, the hunter in question entered the room. "Mornin' Dean. It's unusual for young Sam to beat you to breakfast." He removed his baseball cap and scratched his head before replacing it.

"Yeah, well, I had kinda an unusual morning shall we say." Dean winked at Sam and the boy grinned back.

Bobby watched the interplay between the Winchesters and shook his head. "I don't think I wanna know," he muttered. "Anyway, that was a contact of mine on the phone…I'm gonna go out for a while this afternoon and meet him. He wants to borrow a text of mine on Inca symbols. Oh, and by the way, did you find what you were looking for this mornin'?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" Dean cast a puzzled glance at the grizzled hunter.

"When you were in here rummaging for something. I was in the library. I considered coming to help, but figured if you couldn't find what you were looking for, you'd come ask."

Dean looked at Bobby blankly.

Sam muttered something about having finished and excused himself, exiting the room at a run, but not before Dean noted the flushed cheeks.

"Errr, Bobby, I wasn't down here earlier. It must have been Sam." _Now just what had the kid been up to?_ Dean knew that Sam wouldn't have had to search for the Kool Aid, as he knew exactly where it was kept.

Bobby sighed. "I don't doubt he was up to some mischief then."

**SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~**

Sam watched puzzled as two bed bases were removed from the large van.

"Uncle Bobby, I thought you said only Dean's bed needed replacing?"

Bobby looked to where Sam was pointing and chuckled. "That's just one bed base, Sam," he explained, "they get screwed together."

Sam still looked puzzled, comprehension only dawning when he saw the king-sized mattress being carried out of the back of the van.

Dean knew his baby brother well and grinned, waiting for the inevitable pout. He didn't have to wait long.

"You mean Dean's getting a ginormous bed? But that's not fair! Why didn't you get another normal bed?" Sam's lower lip was definitely protruding.

Both Bobby and Dean had known that Sam would be mortified if he knew that his nightmares and the comfort he craved afterwards were the real reason behind the new bed purchase and had simply told him that Dean's bed was really old and on its last legs.

Bobby thought fast. "I thought it made sense to have a bigger bed in case I ever have any married couples come to stay."

Sam pondered this for a moment and accepted it, "Oh," and then turned to Dean. "Hey, I'm taller than you, so it makes sense that I have the bigger bed."

Dean shook his head. "Nice try, Sammy. Now if the new bed was longer, then your argument might actually have some merit, but it's not _longer_, only _wider_."

Sam huffed. "But it's not fair, Dean. Why can't I have the new bed?"

"Because I'm the oldest," Dean smirked.

Sam scowled at his older brother and turned to his surrogate uncle to plead his case. "Bobbbbby," he whined, "tell Dean that's a stupid reason!"

Bobby obligingly turned to Dean. "That's a stupid reason," he said gruffly.

"So I can have the new bed then?" Sam asked hopefully.

Bobby shook his head and Sam's face fell. "I agree being the oldest doesn't give him the automatic right to claim the bed." He ignored Dean's muttered, "Does too," and continued, "but it was _his _bed that needed to be replaced, so he gets the replacement. Now if it'd been the other way around, then you'd have got it, so it's fair."

Sam continued to look sulky, but didn't press the issue. Whereas he would have continued to argue with Dean, he submitted, albeit grumpily, to Bobby's decision.

After lunch, Bobby set off in his truck to meet his contact in town and Dean made his way out to the autoshop to continue working on salvaging usable parts for Bobby.

As soon as Sam had the house to himself, he ran upstairs and opened the closet where he had stashed the items that he had retrieved from the kitchen earlier that morning. He grabbed the roll of transparent cling-film and entered the bathroom. After the kitchen sink fiasco that had backfired, Sam had deliberately waited for Bobby to go somewhere before initiating this particular prank in order to ensure that he was definitely out of the firing line.

Sam carefully lifted the toilet lid and seat. He then estimated the amount of the clear plastic that he would need and ripped it off. Two minutes later, the boy stood back to survey his handiwork – the clear film stretched smoothly across the toilet, the edges of the plastic fitting snuggly over the toilet rim. Sam stared at it hard, trying to ascertain how visible it was. There was a tiny reflection of light from its surface, but he was confident that unless it was scrutinised closely, it wouldn't be noticed. If Bobby came back before his brother needed to take a leak, Sam would just run up and quickly remove it.

Sam was playing with his wooden track and train set when Dean finally did come in for a drink break. The eldest Winchester stood for a moment in the doorway watching his brother fondly. Sam had his head bent, focussing totally on rearranging the design of his track, his floppy hair falling forward into his face. Having made a point of playing with Sam every day, Dean had become painfully aware of how few toys the kid actually had. Having accepted that Sam was stuck this way, at least for the foreseeable future, Dean was determined to rectify this as soon as possible. He knew that Bobby (with much complaining) was going to a newly built state-of-the-art shopping mall a short distance away the following morning, as he needed to stock up on some mystical, apothecary supplies and his usual supplier had moved her New-Age shop to the new mall, hoping to increase business. Dean had already decided to accompany him, but had said nothing to Sam yet about purchasing new toys as he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam sensed that someone was watching him and looked up. He smiled when he saw his brother.

"Hey, Dean. Have you finished? You wanna play with me?"

Dean came further into the room. "Not yet, kiddo. I promise I'll play with you in a bit, okay? I've just come in for a drink and a toilet stop."

Sam pretended to go back to playing with his train, but in reality, he was watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to go upstairs.

Dean went into the kitchen and opened a can of soda first, glancing at Bobby's morning paper while drinking. Tossing the empty can into the trashcan, he stood up and stretched out his muscles before making his way up to the bathroom.

Sam tiptoed up the stairs once his brother had closed the bathroom door behind him and sat on the top step, listening carefully.

In the bathroom, Dean lifted the toilet seat and casually took aim, before commencing to do his business. Unfortunately for Dean, once it was pointed in the right direction, he raised his head and looked straight ahead, contemplating which vehicle to start working on next. He only became aware that something was wrong when he felt something wet seeping through his left shoe. Dean glanced down puzzled and then jumped back in absolute horror, cursing a word that he would definitely not have said if he had remembered that there were innocent eight-year-old ears in the house.

His urine, having nowhere to go, had overflowed down the sides of the toilet, creating a puddle on the floor. Also, as his left foot had been placed extremely close to the toilet base, that too had been caught in the yellow deluge.

Dean quickly zipped up his jeans. "Sammy! Get your backside in here."

The bathroom door opened and a giggling Sam peered in. His giggles intensified until he was actually struggling to breathe once he had seen the mess on the floor.

Dean shook his head. "That is so not funny."

"It is from where I'm standing," Sam managed to gasp out between peals of childish laughter.

Dean looked down at the yellow pool and damp toilet sides with a grimace of disgust. He refused to even contemplate the fact that it was also covering his foot, as the idea made him slightly nauseous! He was tempted to make Sam clean it up, but that broke the unwritten prank war code of conduct – if you were pranked, you had to deal with the fallout, no matter how severe.

The first thing he did was yank off his left shoe and sock, throwing them into the bath. Dean immediately stuck his foot under the tap and scrubbed it with soap until the skin was bright red and even then it didn't feel completely clean. Next, with a sigh, he retrieved a bucket and cleaning materials from downstairs, got down on his hands and knees and commenced cleaning up the mess in the bathroom. Sam watched the whole procedure chuckling, which Dean did his best to ignore.

"Trust me, you'll regret that, runt," threatened Dean when he had finally finished and Bobby's toilet was practically sparkling, "Payback's a bi…" Dean bit of what he was going to say, realising that he had nearly sworn in front of the child, "….errr, I mean revenge is really sweet, so you better watch out, Sunshine."

Sam grinned. "You're just jealous 'cause I came up with such an awesome prank."

**SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~**

After supper, the two older hunters sat on the porch, enjoying the last of the evening sunshine, while Sam ran off amongst the decrepit cars to play with Buster. They'd only been sitting for about ten minutes before they were interrupted.

"Dean! Dean! I've been sick! Come quick!"

On hearing Sam call, Dean immediately left his chair on the porch and ran anxiously towards his brother's voice. Bobby was hot on his heels. Even as he skidded to a halt as he rounded a burnt out car, Dean was worried – a sick Sammy was a clingy Sammy and under normal circumstances, Sam would have run straight to him, not waited, which made Dean worry that the kid was very ill indeed if he couldn't even make the short distance back to the porch.

He found Sam clutching his stomach, groaning loudly and motioning to a pile of vomit on the ground. However, at eight, Sam wasn't a very good actor (Dean thanked his lucky stars that this had greatly improved over the years, otherwise they'd never have succeeded in pulling off masquerading as FBI agents, doctors, inspectors and whatever else their present hunt required) and rather than looking in pain, his baby brother looked like he was deformed. On closer inspection of the vomit, Dean realised why Sam had been rummaging in Bobby's kitchen that morning – he'd made a lovely conglomeration of various mutilated foodstuffs. Unfortunately, although the concoction did look utterly disgusting, it didn't look anything like real vomit.

Dean opened his mouth to tease Sam about his latest prank and suddenly snapped it shut again, as an idea began to form in his mind. Dean was still pretty narked about the toilet prank earlier – just thinking about his urine-drenched foot made him feel sick. And he had just thought of the perfect way to get his revenge.

Dean schooled his features into a mask of concern and stepped up to Sam, placing one hand on his forehead as if checking for fever. "What happened, Sammy?" he asked gently, "How're you feeling?"

Sam gave a loud, exaggerated groan. "I was fine, Dean and then suddenly I felt sick and now I feel awful."

Bobby watched with one eyebrow raised – _surely Dean wasn't taken in by this? There was obviously nothing wrong with the youngest Winchester._

"It's okay, Tiger," crooned Dean, "let's get you inside and sort you out." He put a supportive arm around the tall boy's waist and guided him carefully towards the house.

Once inside the cabin, Dean paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Okay, Sammy, up to bed with you. I'll bring you some medicine up in a minute."

"Bed?" spluttered Sam, "but it's only seven o' clock."

"Yeah, but you're not well, kiddo. You need a good night's sleep to make you better."

Sam suddenly ceased clutching his stomach and straightened up. "It's okay, Dean, I feel tons better now. You know you often feel better after you've actually thrown up?"

Dean shook his head. "You can't fool me, Sammy, I know you're still feeling really ill….you're just pretending you're not because you don't wanna go to bed."

"But…."

"But nothing. Bed, now!"

This wasn't how Sam had expected it to go at all! He was over the moon that he had fooled Dean so completely, but he wasn't prepared to go to bed an hour and a half early. With a sigh, he decided to confess. "Dean, no really, I'm fine. I didn't really puke. It was a prank. I mixed loads of stuff together to make the vomit. Good trick, huh?"

Dean again shook his head. "Nice try, Junior, but I wasn't born yesterday. You can't fool me, I know you're ill. Now up to bed."

"But, Deeeeean," whined Sam, "I swear it was a prank!"

Dean conjured up a mental image of John Winchester and channelled the ex-marine's stance and authoritative tone. "Are you fighting a bedtime, Sammy? I thought you remembered what happened to your rear end when you did that. Perhaps you need a reminder…." Dean had no intention of really spanking the kid.

"Noooo!" interjected Sam, stepping quickly backwards as Dean raised his right hand. "I'll go…" The tall boy fled up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

As soon as Sam was out of sight, Dean doubled over, snorting with laughter. After a minute he recovered himself enough to straighten up and turned to find Bobby leaning on the wall watching him.

"Now, that was really cruel, Dean Winchester." Bobby's expression was disapproving, but Dean could see the grin tugging at the corners of the older hunter's lips.

"Yeah, it was," agreed Dean, his own grin widening, "and I'm about to be a whole lot crueller when I give him his _medicine_."

Bobby threw up his hands in mock exasperation. "I give up. I'll just leave you two idjits to it."

Dean had a rummage in Bobby's kitchen, already having retrieved a medicine measuring cup from the first aid kit. He chuckled as he located a bottle of raspberry sauce that was intended to be poured on ice cream and squeezed some of it into the measuring cup. Children's medicine was nearly always flavoured and with its bright red colouring and sweet smell, Dean was sure it would dupe his little brother. The consistency was too thick however, so he diluted it with a little bit of water before mixing into it a copious amount of salt and pepper. He then procured a bucket, a box of tissues and a bottle of water, before making his way upstairs.

Sam was sitting forlornly on his bed in his sleepwear. He looked up as Dean entered, puppy-dog eyes turned up full force. "I'm honestly fine, Dean. Can't I please stay up?"

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to feel his brother's forehead before replying. "Sorry, Tiger. You're not well, so you need to stay in bed."

"Can I at least read then?" asked Sam imploringly.

Dean shook his head. "No, sleep's the best thing for you, so as soon as you've had your medicine it's lights out. I've brought you a bucket in case you need to puke again and a drink of water because I don't want you getting dehydrated."

Sam couldn't believe it – the stupid practical joke book had said that fake vomit was one of the best pranks of all time. Sam definitely didn't agree! He sulkily took the proffered medicine cup from Dean and gulped it down. His reaction was immediate!

Dean wondered if maybe if he'd gone a step overboard with his culinary medicinal skills, as he watched his baby brother gagging violently. He thrust the bucket under Sam's nose, convinced that the kid might vomit for real. Sam lunged for the water bottle on the bedside cabinet, tears streaming down his cheeks, because his eyes were watering that much. Dean immediately put his arm around the younger boy's back and began to talk reassuringly to him. After having gulped down half the bottle of water, Sam finally collapsed against his big brother's side.

"Dean?" he murmured.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean was rubbing soothing circles on the boy's back. He was feeling incredibly guilty – he had intended the 'medicine' to taste unpleasant, not to actually make the kid ill. But another unwritten rule of the prank wars was that you never apologised for the fallout (Dean had really really wanted to apologise for the Nair prank he had carried out when Sam was twelve – the child had been so upset and Dean had felt awful and would have done _anything_ to turn back the clock and undo it, but to this day, Sam never knew that: he thought that Dean thought that particular prank had been hilarious).

"Whatever that medicine was, you can throw it away, 'cause I'm not taking any more of it ever!"

"Sure thing, kiddo." Dean ran his hand through Sam's long bangs. "You okay now?"

Sam nodded and resignedly pulled back his covers before climbing into bed. Dean tucked him in.

"Hopefully you'll be better by tomorrow. I'll be up every fifteen minutes to check on you. Okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, night, Dean."

Dean exited the bedroom and turned off the light. True to his word, Dean came up and checked on the kid every quarter of an hour. He wasn't surprised to find at quarter to eight that Sam was fast asleep. The poor kid must have been bored out of his brain just lying there.

**SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~**

The next morning, Dean looked up as a sleepy-looking Sammy entered the kitchen, yawning.

"Feeling better this mornin', Tiger?"

Sam seated himself at the table opposite his brother and reached for the Lucky Charms before replying.

"I know you don't believe me, but I really was fine, Dean. It was a prank," he said seriously.

"Yeah, I know."

Dean's words registered and Sam instantly studied his brother, taking in the ear-splitting grin and teasing glint in his mischievous green eyes.

"You knew? And you still sent me to bed?" spluttered Sam angrily.

"Uh-huh," grinned Dean.

"That was really really mean! I can't believe you did that to me…oh, wait and that wouldn't have been real _medicine _would it? You tried to poison me too!"

"Hey, that's a bit unfair, dude, I mean you're still alive and kicking aren't you?"

"You're a jerk and I hate you," muttered Sam, deliberately turning his body away from his older brother.

"I really don't think it was any meaner than what you did to me with the whole plastic over the toilet thing," said Dean conversationally, but Sam completely ignored him, staring sullenly out of the kitchen window while he ate his breakfast.

Despite Dean's continued attempts, Sam refused to speak a single word to his brother, eating in total silence, before returning upstairs to have his bath and get dressed.

Dean grinned – his baby brother was so stubborn, but he was sure that when Sam found out where they were going, he wouldn't be able to retain his bad mood. Upon hearing Sam moving around in the bedroom, signalling the fact that he was almost ready, Dean went up to give him his shave.

Sam sat on the edge of the bath, having plastered his face with shaving foam – the kid always applied way too much, but Dean never commented. Sam was still studiously ignoring his big brother's chatter, even while allowing him to wield the razor. However, he was forced to respond when Dean asked him a direct question.

"Bobby wants to set off in ten minutes. Will you be ready by then?"

Sam kept perfectly still and waited until Dean had completed the last stroke before replying – he was still really nervous of the razor.

"I don't wanna go anywhere if you're going," he replied sulkily.

"Really, that's a shame." Dean watched as Sam rinsed the last traces of shaving cream off his face. "I thought you wanted some new toys, but if you don't, we can always stay here while Bobby goes."

"New toys?" Sam completely forgot that he wasn't talking to Dean.

"Yeah, kiddo, there's apparently a gigantic toy shop in the mall and I thought we could check it out."

"Can we really?" Sam began to bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet. "That'd be so cool, Dean!"

Dean grinned at his brother's enthusiasm. "Just be ready in ten minutes then."

Exactly fifteen minutes later, the Winchesters and Bobby were installed safely in the Impala. Dean turned the key and the engine roared to life. He set off down the driveway, slamming on brakes after only a few feet. He immediately switched off the engine and leapt out. As soon as it had set off, the car had begun making a horrendous clanking, clattering sound.

"What's the matter, Baby?" muttered Dean lifting the hood.

He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but quickly checked for any loose connections anyway. Dean then returned to the driver's side door and turned the engine back on, listening intently to the loud purr – it sounded just the same as always.

"What's wrong with it, Boy?" asked Bobby, "We can take my truck if we need to."

"Nothing as far as I can tell."

"Then what the hell was that godforsaken noise?"

Dean shrugged. "I have no idea, but she seems to be running fine now."

Dean got back in the car and set off again with exactly the same result.

"Sounds like it's gonna blow up," put in Bobby, as Dean again slammed on brakes.

The idea of his Girl blowing up filled Dean with utter horror. As he again exited the car, he caught sight of Sam in the backseat and stopped dead in his tracks. The boy's face was literally purple and he had one hand jammed over his mouth, trying ineffectually to contain his mirth, as his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

Dean pointed a finger at his younger sibling. "If you've damaged my Baby, I'm gonna kick your ass!" He was pretty sure however that Sam knew better than to really mess with the car. This time, Dean took a circuit around the Impala, instead of checking the engine.

Upon reaching the rear of the car, Dean put his hands on his hips and a begrudging laugh escaped his lips as he looked down at Sam's handiwork. The kid had tied a bunch of bottles and cans to lengths of string which he had then attached to the back of the car, so that when the car moved, they were pulled along the ground, hence the dreadful racket. After untying the strings, Dean climbed back into the driver's seat.

"Not bad, Sammy," he praised, earning himself a full-dimpled smile from his baby brother.

**SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~ SUPERNATURAL ~**

Sam stood in the entrance and looked around the toy store in awe. It stretched over two floors and shelves of toys spread off in all directions as far as Sam could see. He was also still in shock from the amount of money that Dean had told him he could spend.

Sam dragged Dean and Bobby up every single aisle, exclaiming excitedly over various finds. Both of the older hunters watched the youngest Winchester, mesmerised and warmed by his youthful exhilaration. It tugged at their heartstrings to see him so happy and carefree.

Bobby was pushing the shopping cart, which already contained a toy castle with a set of knights, some Transformers toys, a fancy water pistol, a soccer ball, two jigsaws, a set of toy airplanes and a set of dinosaurs. Sam was doing his best to keep adding the total up in his head, occasionally seeking out Dean for confirmation that his workings out were correct.

"They didn't have any of this stuff when I was little," muttered Dean, picking up a remote-control car that supposedly would never crash as it could right itself.

Sam wandered over and looked at the item in his brother's hands. "Yeah, I'll have that too and then you can play with it as well," he grinned.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam had nearly spent all of his allocated funds and was just considering what to buy with the last bit, when he noticed Dean deeply engrossed in examining a display of toy cars. He trotted to his big brother's side and looked at the car his brother was holding – it looked exactly like the Impala! Sam then caught sight of the price and nearly choked.

"Dean, why are these toy cars so expensive? There's loads over there that are really cheap."

"These aren't really toys, Sammy," he explained patiently, "people collect them, because they're scale repica's…that means if you really shrunk the Impala it'd look just like this. They include proper details too…can you see the door handles?...which toy cars don't."

"Oh," murmured Sam, frantically trying to work out in his head which toys that he had chosen to put back so that he could afford to buy the model replica for Dean. He waited for his brother and Bobby to be engrossed in conversation before picking up the Impala box and shoving it quickly under the Scrabble game, so that it would be hidden. He then removed the Trivial Pursuit game and a battery-operated robot from the shopping cart and set them down on a nearby shelf.

"Okay, Dean, I've finished. Thank you." Sam gave Dean a quick hug. "You're the best brother ever!"

"You're not so bad yourself," he teased, "Come on, Tiger, we'll pay for this lot and then take them back to the car. Some of them are quite bulky and we don't wanna be lugging them around with us."

At the checkout, Sam tugged on Dean's sleeve to distract him when the model Impala was being scanned – he wanted it to be a surprise!

"Errr, so, Dean, I've forgotten what we're doing next, after we've taken the toys to the car?"

"Bobby's going to his friend's shop and then they're gonna get some lunch and while they're doin' that, we're gonna catch a movie 'cause the theatre's right next to the food court. How's that sound?"

Sam saw the sales assistant pop the Impala into a bag out of the corner of his eye and relaxed. "That sounds great, Dean."

As they re-entered the shopping mall after having offloaded their purchases, they were blissfully unaware that they were being followed.

Jason Wentworth couldn't believe the coincidence of bumping into the Winchesters twice in less than a month. The hunter, Bobby Singer, was with them yet again – he too had a formidable reputation in the demon world. He wondered if the younger Winchester was still inflicted with the curse and decided to observe them for a while. Realising that with the vast amount of harried shoppers, there was no way that they would realise that they were being tailed, Jason moved close enough to them to eavesdrop on their conversation. He quickly determined which area of the mall they were heading towards and also concluded that Samuel Winchester still had the mind of a child.

Sam had lost interest in listening to the conversation between his brother and Bobby. Uncle Bobby was busy complaining about how much he hated new-fangled, modern shopping malls and expounding how he wished his friend had kept their small, local shop instead of moving.

Sam looked around with interest as he walked along. Their Dad didn't like shopping malls either, so he had rarely been in any. Dean had promised that when they'd watched the movie, they could look in some of the other shops if Sam wanted to. Realising that they were passing a book store, Sam couldn't resist pausing to look at the books on display in the windows. One section had a display of Harry Potter books and he leaned against the glass, trying to read the titles. Sam had read a little about this character on the internet when he had been playing with the laptop and he wondered what all the fuss was about. He glanced up to ask Dean if he could maybe have one of the books for his birthday to try it, when he realised that his brother and Bobby were nowhere in sight.

Sam panicked for a moment - he'd gotten lost once before in a shopping mall and it'd been very scary, but he'd only been six at the time. Realising that his brother couldn't be very far ahead, he quickly calmed down and began making his way through the crowds in the direction that they had been heading.

Jason cursed inwardly – what brilliant luck that the youngest Winchester had become separated from his bodyguards, but it was still too risky to try and take him, because when the older brother realised he had lost him, he would undoubtedly retrace his steps. Jason followed the anxious tall boy through the crowds of shoppers.

Sam came to an intersection and hesitated, having no idea which way Dean and Bobby would have gone. He was faced with three choices – straight ahead, left or right. Up ahead, he suddenly spotted a man in a baseball cap and got a quick glimpse of spiky, dark blond hair next to him. Relieved to have found them, Sam forged straight ahead.

Jason Wentworth paused at the intersection, an evil grin spreading across his face. The child had gone the wrong way! Knowing the direction that they had been heading, Jason knew that they would have turned left and not continued straight ahead. He also knew that this opportunity wouldn't present itself again and he intended to take advantage of it! If Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer doubled back now, they would completely miss their lost member, which gave him a little time to play with.

As Sam got closer to the two figures, he realised that they weren't Bobby and Dean at all – for a start, the one in the baseball cap was a girl! He stopped immediately and turned around, thinking it would be sensible to go back towards the book store, as that was where Dean would most likely look for him. He was startled out of his thoughts by a tall dark-haired man, putting his hand on his arm.

"Hi, there," greeted the man with a warm smile.

"Uh, hi," replied Sam politely, "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"I'm glad to hear that….that's very sensible," replied Jason, "but I'm not a stranger, Sam, I'm a friend of Mr Singers. They sent me to come and find you. Dean says you can catch a movie another time."

"Where are they?" asked Sam, looking around to try and see them.

"Dean got a call and they had to rush off, nothing to worry about mind, but if you come with me, I'll take you to them."

"Okay." Sam began following the man towards an exit sign. "Dean's not mad at me for not staying with him is he?"

Jason laughed. "No, your brother's not mad, Sam. He was worried though, especially when he needed to rush off. So he was relieved when I offered to come find you."

Sam followed Jason through the automatic doors and out into the car park….


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

Dean turned to say something to Sam and finding that the sasquatch wasn't next to him, turned completely around in order to locate him. A moment later he cursed – Sam was nowhere to be seen! Due to his sibling's ridiculous height, Dean knew that he would be visible above the crowds if he was anywhere nearby.

"Where the hell is Sammy? I specifically told him to stay right by me!" Dean's tone showed his exasperation.

Bobby looked around too, noticing for the first time that the youngest Winchester was no longer with them. "The little idjit," he grumbled, running one hand over his beard.

"That kid is so gonna get his behind swatted," muttered Dean, turning abruptly on his heels.

Bobby turned too, but Dean halted the older hunter with a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Don't worry, I've got this. You're gonna be late for your friend. I'll call you when I find him."

Thinking of calling, a thought crossed Dean's mind as he impatiently backtracked the way he had come – what had happened to Sam's cell phone? It definitely wasn't in his duffle, as Dean had emptied it completely when checking for weapons and Sammy hadn't come to him with it asking how it worked, so he strongly suspected that it had been left behind in the warehouse where Sam had been cursed. Perhaps it had fallen out of his pocket when he was thrown against the wall? Just on the off-chance that his sasquatch of a sibling did still have his cell phone, Dean pulled his own out of his pocket and hit speed dial 1. As expected, the automated voice on the end of the line said that the call could not be connected.

Dean made it back to the intersection only a minute after Sam had left it. If he had only turned around and looked the other way, he would have spotted his baby brother heading in the opposite direction.

Two minutes later, he reached the ornate marble fountain, which was the last spot where he was absolutely certain his baby brother had still been with them - Sam had spent five minutes gawping at the cascading, frothing water from the dolphins' mouths and had asked his big brother to explain how it worked.

Dean was getting increasingly irritated. He should have come across Sam by now. _Surely the kid had the sense not to just wander off once he realised he was lost?_ Though apparently he didn't. However, along with the irritation, Dean felt the stirrings of something else – anxiety. But that didn't make sense. _What could possibly happen to the kid in a crowded shopping mall?_ For some reason, his big brother radar had gone on high alert and even though Dean told himself he was being stupid, he was determined to find Sam as quickly as possible.

He approached a security guard who was standing nearby. A glance at his name tag told Dean that he was called Neil Smith.

"Excuse me, sir, but could you help me? I've lost my brother. He's an adult, but he was in a car accident a couple of years ago and suffered brain damage and now only has the understanding of a young child. I'm really worried about him."

Dean could see the genuine sympathy that flickered in Neil's eyes. "Of course, Mr...?"

"Winchester," supplied Dean.

"Right, Mr Winchester, we will do everything in our power to reunite you. Now if I could just take down some details?"

Dean couldn't help cynically wondering if the guard would be as helpful and sympathetic if the missing person wasn't 'disabled'.

After giving a detailed description of what his absentee sibling looked like and what he was wearing, Dean listened as Neil radioed the information through to the main security office. He kept glancing around, expecting to see Sam coming towards him looking sheepish.

Neil turned back to Dean. "All security personnel have been alerted and will keep an eye out for a young adult matching your brother's description. As soon as he's been located they will contact me."

Two minutes later a message was heard over the shopping mall's intercom system: WOULD SAM WINCHESTER PLEASE GO TO A HELP-DESK OR A SECURITY GUARD. YOUR BROTHER IS LOOKING FOR YOU.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Jason Wentworth and Sam had only exited through the automatic doors and into the car park a couple of minutes before the intercom message rang out.

Sam trotted obediently after the friend of Bobby's. "Are you really sure Dean's not mad at me, sir? He told me to stay with him, so I shouldn't have gotten lost."

Jason Wentworth looked back at Sam as they made their way across the parking lot, a friendly, reassuring smile fixed unwaveringly on his face. "He didn't seem angry, so I wouldn't worry about it. But he was in a real rush and didn't have time to hang around and look for you."

"Where did they go?"

"Umm…to pick up a stranded hunter friend." Jason was relieved that the Winchester brat didn't seem to have picked up on his hesitation.

"How do you know, Uncle Bobby?"

_Why the hell did he have to ask questions?_ "My dad is a close friend of his."

"Oh." Sam nodded and glanced around. He spotted something and paused mid-stride. "I wasn't lost for very long. Are you sure they've set off?"

Sam had never seen another car like theirs in real life, only ever on TV and in his brother's car magazines, and yet a few rows over, there was a sleek black Impala. Although they'd approached from a completely different direction, Sam also thought that this was the area of the parking lot that they'd parked in earlier, but he wasn't one hundred percent certain. Sam really hoped that they hadn't set off yet, because although this man seemed nice enough, he was really quite shy of strangers and would much rather ride with Dean to wherever he needed to go.

"Yeah, they've definitely gone. I waved them off myself."

They continued moving towards the other Impala. _Dean will be so excited when I tell him I've seen another one. _

Jason halted by a blue ford parked in the next row and opened the passenger door for Sam.

"In you get."

The tall boy stepped forward to comply, casting a last glance at the familiar-looking classic car. He caught sight of what was on the backseat and froze - there were his bags of new toys that they'd dumped there earlier instead of putting them in the trunk. He could even see the bulky plastic castle sticking out of the top of one.

Sam immediately backed up, his heart beginning to race. _This man had lied to him!_

"Errr, I don't want to come with you. Tell Dean I'll wait for him here."

Jason didn't know what had tipped the kid off, but it was evident that something had. With an animalistic snarl, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of the retreating boy's arm.

"You're coming with me!"

"No!" Sam pulled back as hard as he could, but Jason was using his demonic strength and his struggles were futile.

"Please let me go…..please," pleaded Sam, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. He was looking at Jason's face imploringly, so he noticed immediately when the man's eyes turned completely black. Even in his state of total panic, the alarm bells went off in Sam's head, remembering what he'd read in his Dad's journal.

Jason had now pulled the recalcitrant boy to the side of his vehicle and was preparing to stuff him forcibly through the passenger door.

Sam was desperate. In a last ditch attempt to break free from his captor, he executed the leg sweep manoeuvre that Dean had so patiently taught him. With lots of practise, he had managed to perfect the move after his disastrous introduction to it. It worked like a charm – Jason went down like a sack of rocks, letting go of Sam's arm in surprise and cracking his head on the wing mirror on the way down.

However, as Sam turned to run he felt a vice-like grip encircle his ankle. Jason had shot his hand out and grabbed the only part of the fleeing boy that he could reach. With a quick yank, he brought Sam crashing down. Hot pain flared through the boy's elbows and knees as they connected with the unyielding tarmac.

"You're gonna pay for that," snarled Jason, tightening his grip on the ankle to such an extent that Sam whimpered in pain.

Sam then did the only thing that he could think of. It was the very first defensive move that his father had ever taught him. He squirmed to look at the man sprawled on the ground next to him, took aim with his free foot and kicked Jason as hard as he could in the groin.

Jason swore and let go of Sam, his body involuntarily curling up to try and minimise the pain.

Sam immediately scrambled away on hands and knees until he was certain he was out of reach. Only then, did he stagger to his feet and sprint as fast as could, limping slightly due to his jarred knees and sore ankle, towards the nearest entrance to the shopping mall.

Once inside he skidded to a halt. _He needed Dean! How could he find him?_ The appearance of a sobbing adult in a heaving public place caused quite a spectacle and a considerable number of people stopped and openly stared, but only one, a kindly elderly lady tried to help.

"Hello, Sweetie. Are you all right?"

Sam shook his head. "C-can't talk to st-strangers," he stammered through his tears. He watched the automatic doors fearfully, petrified that the man who had tried to kidnap him would reappear.

The lady, Penny, placed a gentle hand on his arm, but Sam immediately flinched back. _What if she was trying to take him too?_

Penny quickly withdrew her hand. "Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'm going to go get you some help. Okay?"

Sam nodded. _Maybe she could find Dean?_

The Good Samaritan moved through the gawking crowd shaking her head sadly. _Whatever happened to love your neighbour? _she thought. It made her angry that people could find the distressed state that the young man was obviously in entertaining. At last she found what she was looking for – a security guard.

After listening to Penny's explanation, the guard questioned her about what the young man was wearing and what he looked like, as they made their way back to where the boy was.

"Did he seem, well…all there?" he asked, convinced that he'd just found the missing brain-damaged Sam Winchester.

Penny gave him a cold look. "I don't like your turn of phrase. All I know is that he's upset and needs to be helped."

Sam was standing exactly where Penny had left him.

"Here you are, Sweetie. This man can help you."

"You're Sam Winchester aren't you? Your brother's looking for you," said the guard, not unfriendly, "If you'll just come with me, I'll take you to him."

Sam's eyes widened in panic and he backed away. "No, I'm not g-going anywhere with y-you!" _That other man had known his name too, it could be another trick!_

"It's okay, son," soothed the guard, fearful that the frantic boy was going to turn tail and run, "I'll radio through our position and get your brother to come to you instead. How's that sound?"

Penny was careful not to go too close and startle the boy. "See, it's going to be okay. Your brother will be here soon. You don't need to be upset."

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean's irritation melted completely when he saw how distraught his baby brother looked. Sam was standing, hugging himself protectively while eyeing the security guard and a grey-haired woman in front of him warily. The kid was also sobbing his heart out. Dean was instantly worried and hurried forward – Sammy hadn't been this upset when he had gotten lost when he was only six.

Sam risked a glance away from the guard and lady to look around. The man had said that Dean was coming for him. _He needed Dean! Dean would make everything better! But what if the guard was lying like the man who had tried to kidnap him?_

"Dean!" Sam ran towards his brother and Dean suddenly found his arms full of crying, trembling Sammy.

"Hey, it's okay," soothed Dean, his arms instinctively tightening around the younger boy's shaking frame, "I've gotcha, you're alright."

"Do you need anything else, Mr Winchester?" asked Neil, who had escorted Dean to where his brother had been found.

Dean flashed a grateful smile at the guard. "No, thank you for all your help."

"I'm just glad you've found him safe and sound. You must have been so worried given his condition."

Dean nodded again in thanks, before turning his attention back to his distraught brother.

"Calm down, Buddy. It's okay, you're not lost anymore. You hear me?"

He felt Sam nod against his shoulder where his head was buried.

"I w-was so scared, D-dean," he sniffed.

"Yeah, but you're okay now. Though we will be having a little chat about doing as you're told….I remember specifically telling you to stay with me and Bobby," he scolded gently.

"I know," murmured Sam, "I'm sorry. I d-didn't mean to g-get left behind and then that m-man…." Sam gave another sob, fear washing over him once more as he remembered.

"The man who helped you?" prompted Dean. He was concerned by the degree of distress that the kid was displaying. Something didn't add up.

Sam shook his head violently against his brother's shoulder.

"N-no, the one who tried t-to kidnap m-me."

Dean stiffened, his thoughts immediately in a whirl. _Someone had tried to take his Sammy?_

"You mean the security guard who wanted you to go with him?" he queried, knowing from Neil that his brother had refused to go with the guard who found him.

"No, n-not him, the m-man with bl-black eyes. I think it w-was a d-demon, Dean."

Dean was certain his heart had stopped. Suddenly his brother's extreme reaction was starting to make sense. He needed to find out exactly what had happened and fast, but not in the middle of a public place.

Dean glanced around and noticed for the first time that they had quite an audience, but then it wasn't every day that you saw two grown men hugging in the middle of a shopping mall.

Remembering that there were some benches skirting the parking lot, Dean gently disentangled himself from his brother's embrace and took hold of Sam's hand, leading him towards the exit.

"Let's get some fresh air, kiddo, and you can tell me all about it."

Sam sniffled and willingly followed his brother. His sobbing was starting to taper off. _Dean wouldn't let anything happen to him! He was safe._

Dean noticed Sam's slight limp and his growing anger and worry increased. "Did the man hurt you, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "He made me fall over and grabbed me. My ankle hurts the worst."

Dean couldn't understand how someone could forcibly try and take his brother in the middle of a crowded shopping mall without anyone lifting a finger to stop them.

"Didn't anyone try and help you when the man knocked you over?"

"There wasn't anyone around, Dean."

Dean looked puzzled. "But it was heaving. Were you in a bathroom or something?"

"He didn't attack me until I'd followed him to the car park."

For a moment Dean was totally stunned. Then he let go of Sam's hand, put both hands on the tall boy's shoulders and shook him. Hard.

"Dammit, Sammy! You went with a perfect stranger? You know better than that! What the hell were you thinking?"

At Dean's raised voice, Sam burst into fresh sobs and as soon as his brother stopped shaking him he turned away from Dean, hugging himself protectively and staring miserably at the floor.

"I-I'm so-horry, D-dean. I d-didn't kn-know. H-he knew m-my n-name a-and y-yours and u-uncle B-bobby's. He s-said you'd s-sent h-him. I w-was dumb t-to b-believe h-him." Sam was crying so hard as a result of Dean's censure that he could hardly talk.

Dean cursed himself – he was totally freaked by the fact that a demon had nearly gotten Sam and he'd lost control of his heightened emotions for just a moment.

"No, Sammy, _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you." Dean pulled his sobbing brother into his arms, relieved that the boy had obviously forgiven his outburst, as he melted into him and didn't pull away. "You know like when you're tired and haven't had enough sleep and you take it out on people around you even though they've done nothing?" He felt Sam nod against his shoulder. "Well that's what I just did to you. I'm mad at the man who tried to take you, not you, but I lashed out at you, because I can't get him right now. I'm really sorry. So we're good?"

Sam nodded again, his breathing ragged as he fought to control his sobs once more. Dean cupped the back of his brother's neck with one hand and used his thumb to rub gentle, soothing circles. He pressed a tender kiss to Sam's temple and murmured a string of soft reassurances. After a few minutes, Sam calmed down sufficiently to be able to speak properly again and Dean once more took his hand and led him towards the nearest bench.

Once seated, with Dean's strong, supportive arm around his shoulders, Sam haltingly recounted the events from when he got separated from Dean until he was reunited with him in detail. Occasionally his big brother would interrupt with a question. What Dean learned from Sam left him reeling and he really needed to talk to Bobby, but that would have to wait until the youngest Winchester wasn't present. In the meanwhile, he had to put on a calm front for Sam. He wanted nothing more than to gut the demon responsible, but logic told him that it would have long gone and anyway, he couldn't search for it with Sam in tow.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo. You were really brave! And you remembered your training. Well done!" Dean couldn't bring himself to contemplate what could have happened if Sammy hadn't managed to escape.

Sam smiled at his big brother's praise, his dimples finally making an appearance.

Dean knelt on the ground in front of Sam so that he could check the kid's injuries. By the morning, Dean had no doubt that the boy would be sporting some magnificent bruises on his elbows and knees from his fall, but luckily the skin hadn't broken. His ankle was slightly swollen and there was already considerable bruising evident, but Dean was thankful that no serious, lasting damage had been done.

He sat himself back on the bench next to Sam and placed two fingers under the boy's chin, gently bringing his head round so that he could look him in the eyes.

"I need you to listen to me, Sammy. This is really serious. I'm not mad that you went with that demon…it would have fooled most people. But I don't want it happening again, so from now on, I want you to promise me that you won't go anywhere with anyone unless either me or Bobby are present. Okay?"

"Or Dad," put in Sam.

Dean swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah Sammy, that's right, if me, Uncle Bobby or Dad are there it's fine, otherwise, you don't go. Under any circumstances. Understood? No matter what they tell you or what they know. I want you to promise me."

"Okay, Dean. I promise."

"Good." Dean stood up, an idea having just crossed his mind. "Come on. Let's go buy you a cell phone. Then you can always get hold of me in an emergency."

Sam's eyes widened. Under other circumstances, Dean would have found it comical. "My own cell phone? Really? But they're ridiculously expensive. That's just so cool!"

Dean couldn't help grinning at his Sam's enthusiasm and contemplated his brother vigilantly as they walked back towards the shopping mall. He was relieved to note that the kid no longer appeared scared or upset, though it was evident from his red-rimmed eyes that he had been crying.

"Where's Uncle Bobby?" asked Sam.

"Oh, sh….sugar!" Dean changed what he was going to say at the last second. "Bobby's gonna kill me. I was supposed to ring when I found you."

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and frowned when he saw two missed calls from the older hunter. The ringer had been set to silent so he hadn't heard it go off. He hit speed dial 3 and waited. Bobby picked up on the second ring.

"I'm really sorry, Bobby. I forgot…"

Bobby cut him off harshly. "You forgot? Yah idjit! Here was me panickin' that somethin' had happened when I didn't hear from you and you blinkin' forgot!..."

Dean moved the phone away from his head as the volume of the hunter's rant hurt his ear.

"Uncle Bobby's mad, huh?" asked Sam. He couldn't make out the words, but from the sounds emitting from the phone it was obvious that his surrogate uncle was yelling.

"You could say that," muttered Dean, waiting for a pause in the ensuing rant, so that he could get a word in.

Eventually, Bobby stopped to take breath and Dean jumped in. "Something did happen. We kinda have a situation here."

"What happened?" Worry was now evident in the older hunter's tone.

Dean glanced at Sam who was watching him. He had to be careful what he said. "A demon tried to take Sam, Bobby…"

"What?" Dean had expected the explosion.

"Yeah, so I'll explain everything _later_ okay? He's all right though, so don't worry."

"Where are you?" asked the older hunter gruffly, catching on immediately that Dean didn't want to discuss things in front of Sam. "I'm gonna cut my lunch date short."

"You sure? You don't have to. We'll be in the telecommunications shop. I think it's a good idea for Sammy to have a cell phone."

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean pulled up outside Bobby's. Sam was on the verge of falling asleep in the backseat. With the shock that the kid had had earlier, Dean wasn't surprised that the emotional trauma had worn him out.

He opened the passenger door for him. "Come on, Tiger. Why don't you go have a lie down for a bit?"

That woke Sam right up. "I'm not a baby, Dean. I don't need an afternoon nap," he replied indignantly.

"I know you're not." Dean held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I just thought you might wanna try out my new bed, it's totally amazing!" he grinned.

Sam shook his shaggy head. "I'm not stupid either, Dean. I don't need a nap, so bribing me with your bed isn't gonna work. Anyway, I want you to show me my new phone."

Dean sat down next to Sam on the worn leather sofa and helped the boy to unpack and assemble the cell phone.

"I can't believe they're so small now," babbled Sam, "I mean Dad's was gigantic and so heavy."

Dean took the phone and immediately stored his own and Bobby's numbers in it, before modelling how to make a call. He then demonstrated how to send a text message. Sam was totally enthralled.

"Wow," he breathed, "it's totally amazing. And it can really play music and take pictures too?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it can. We need to charge it properly now though, so why don't we watch some TV?"

As Dean took the phone to charge, he quickly checked it to make sure that the GPS was turned on – he'd feel better if he had a way to track the kid!

Twenty minutes later, Dean looked down at Sam who was leaning on him fast asleep.

"So much for not needing a nap, kiddo," he murmured softly, gently running his hands through the boy's tousled bangs. He looked up as Bobby entered.

"How's he doin'?" questioned the older hunter, careful to keep his voice low and not awaken the sleeping child.

Dean ran an agitated hand over his face before replying. "Better than me, Bobby, he seems fine."

Bobby nodded. "That's kids for you. Resilient they are. You wanna talk about it?"

Dean shook his head. "Not 'til he's gone to bed proper tonight. I can't risk him waking up and overhearing."

Sam slept until nearly suppertime. Dean was quite uncomfortable by this point. He had been careful not to move and accidentally wake his sibling, but his muscles were protesting at having remained in the same position for over two hours.

"Hey, Sammy. You okay?" Dean felt the stirring against him and saw two sleepy hazel eyes blinking up at him.

Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position, for a moment the last vestiges of sleep making him disorientated. "Dean? Why am I sleeping on the sofa?"

"Because it turns out you did need a nap after all, princess," he teased, standing and stretching his cramped muscles.

"Jerk." Sam punched his brother's thigh before yawning and stretching himself. His eyes suddenly fell on the toy bags that someone must have carried in from the car while he had been asleep - he figured it must have been Bobby as he'd evidently been using Dean as a pillow. A sudden smile lit up his face as he remembered the gift he had bought for his brother.

"Dean," he instructed eagerly, "close your eyes and hold out your hands."

"Why?" asked Dean suspiciously.

"I've got something for you."

"What?"

"Just do it…..pleeeeease." Sam had his puppy-dog eyes out.

Dean sighed and complied. He fully expected this to be another prank and to find his hands suddenly full of slime or something.

"Don't open 'em 'til I tell you," Sam instructed.

Dean heard a rustling sound and then felt something placed in his outstretched palms.

"Can I look now?"

"Yeah."

Dean opened his eyes and saw his baby brother beaming at him before glancing down to see what his hands held. On seeing what it was, Dean felt his heart constrict and became aware of an uncomfortable prickling sensation behind his eyes. He understood the sacrifice. He knew how many toys his brother could have purchased in the place of the perfect replica of the Impala he now held.

"So do you like it?" Sam was beginning to sound anxious and Dean realised that he had just been standing there, staring at it.

"I _love_ it, Sammy!" Dean pulled his brother into a hug. "Thank you. You're the best little brother _ever_!"

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean made his way back downstairs to Bobby after checking on Sam.

"He asleep yet?" asked the older hunter when Dean entered the library.

"Yeah, sleeping like a babe."

"Good. Now tell me what the blazes happened today!"

Dean carefully recounted the events at the shopping mall. Bobby looked shocked and didn't say a word when Dean finally finished the tale and he wondered if the older hunter had drawn the same disturbing conclusions that he had.

"Demons _know_ about Sam's predicament, Bobby…it's obvious from how that SOB treated him and what he said. I dunno if he saw us in the toyshop or what, but he _knows_. He knows Sam's vulnerable and can't protect himself. And if one demon knows, you can pretty much guarantee others soon will if they don't already. And why did he try to take him? Was it a spur of the moment decision? Or was it somethin' to do with the plan that yellow-eyed SOB has?"

Dean slammed his fist into the wall in frustration.

"Hey, son, listen to me," Bobby found his voice, "It's gonna be okay." He stood and moved over to the boy he thought of as his own and put a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"How can it be, Bobby? He's helpless like this."

Bobby could see the fear written in the younger hunter's eyes: the fear that he wouldn't be able to protect his baby brother – _his reason for living. _"He wasn't helpless today, Dean. He got away all on his own. And nothing's going to happen to him. _We_ won't let it!"

Dean took a few deep breaths to calm himself and when he looked back at Bobby, the anger was replaced with a deep sadness.

"He's gonna hate me, Bobby. Worse than he ever did Dad." Dean's voice sounded broken, defeated.

"What do you mean, son? That boy worships the ground you walk on. You gotta know that."

"Now maybe," Dean conceded, "but what about when he's older? Keeping him on a short leash is fine now while he's just a little kid, but what about when he's a teenager? I can't see it going down well that I won't let him go see a movie on his own when he's fourteen say. And there's no way I'm letting him out of my sight! Not while I know some demon has plans for him!" Dean gave a self-deprecating laugh before continuing. "And he hated Dad's restrictions….they'll be nothing compared to mine. And I wanted to give him a chance at a happy, normal childhood…yeah, right!"

"Dean!" Bobby's tone was sharp. "We won't let it come to that. That warlock may still turn up and cure him and even if he doesn't, we have other options open to us."

Dean didn't look convinced. "Like what?"

"Hunting down that evil yellow-eyed brute that started all this for a start. We just have to find out what the plans for Sam are and stop 'em!"

"You make it sound so simple."

"Well it is. And in the meantime, we just keep him safe."

Dean nodded, forcibly getting a firm grip on his runaway emotions. "Thanks, Bobby. For everything."

"Get away with yah, you idjit, you're family."

Four hours later, Bobby paused in the doorway of his spare bedroom and felt his heart swell as he watched _his_ boys sleeping. Sam must have had a nightmare, because he was in Dean's bed, snuggled into his side and the older boy had his arm protectively flung across his waist. He grinned as he made his way to his own room – the king-sized bed had definitely been a worthwhile investment!

**Author's note:**** So Sammy has successfully escaped Jason's clutches…or has he?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:**** I'm really really really sorry that I took so long to update. Real life kind of got in the way and I've not been very well. Another big thank you goes out to The Banana Nut Muffin for giving me fantastic ideas which I will be including in this and further chapters!**

**Chapter 11:**

Dean slowly awoke, aware immediately of the warm body snuggled into his back. Dean's lips tugged into a smile – the kid always had been a snuggler when he was little. With his new king-sized bed, it would have been perfectly possible for both of them to share it without ever having to make physical contact, but that was never gonna happen with Sammy. The kid had dreamt of black-eyed demons, which wasn't surprising considering his kidnapping ordeal. For a moment, Dean lay still, relishing the warmth of Sam's body next to his own, relaxing in the reassurance that Sammy was safe. The events of the day before had shook Dean up much more than he was prepared to admit.

Eventually though, Dean slid carefully out from under the covers, careful not to wake his brother. Sam murmured in his sleep at the loss of contact, but didn't awaken.

When Dean arrived in the kitchen a short while later freshly dressed and showered, he found Bobby assembling a small armoury on the table. At Dean's questioning raised eyebrow, Bobby answered before he could vocalise his query.

"A hunter friend of mine called…his partner was injured. They were tracking a Black Dog and he needs back-up. Said I'd lend a hand. You two boys can hold down the fort here?"

"Yeah, of course. Is there anythin' I can do this end to help?"

Bobby scratched his beard. "Well if you wouldn't mind manning the phones while I'm away? That'd be a help. Just when you're in…don't feel you have to stay housebound for me though."

After all that Bobby had done for him and his brother, Dean was grateful for this small opportunity to repay the older hunter. "Yeah, I'll do that. How long will you be away?"

"Shouldn't be more than a couple of days at most….." Bobby watched curiously as Dean moved over to the counter and took out the seran wrap "…..you planning on wrappin' up your breakfast, Boy?"

Dean grinned. "Uh-uh, I've got a little surprise for Sammy planned."

Bobby groaned. "When are you two idjits gonna call a truce to your prank wars?"

"When I'm the undisputed winner," smirked Dean.

Bobby shook his head in exasperation. "You two are gonna be the death of me….or each other!"

"Hey, come on Bobby, I'm an adult now and I've got things totally under control. Trust me, I've got more common sense than to pull harmful stupid pranks like I did when I was a kid."

Bobby raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh really? 'Cause I seem to recall that Sam was an _adult _when he thought it would be a good idea to superglue your hand to a beer bottle!"

Dean grimaced at the memory. "Yeah, that was so not cool…I practically had no skin left on my palm. But that was immature Sammy, not me," he grinned.

Bobby shook his head and with a muttered "Idjits" turned back to the shotgun that he was loading.

Dean tiptoed back upstairs and set about attaching the thin, stretchy, transparent film across the doorframe to the bedroom that he shared with Sam.

Half an hour later, Dean was eating a slice of buttered toast when he was rewarded with a frightened shriek coming from upstairs.

"What the blazes?" muttered Bobby, realising immediately that there was no danger due to the fact that Dean was smirking as he moved quickly into the hallway.

Sam was standing just outside the bedroom door, still shrieking wildly, while flailing his arms around frantically. Dean started to laugh and even Bobby felt the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth at the spectacle. Bobby immediately felt bad for finding it funny though, because the youngest Winchester was obviously frightened.

Sam had exited the bedroom half-asleep only to be attacked by some kind of invisible monster. He could feel it surrounding him and also felt like he couldn't breathe properly, as if it was smothering him somehow. Sam had totally panicked and had fought hysterically to get the monster off him. _Surely Dean and Uncle Bobby would hear him and come rescue him?_ Suddenly, he found himself free of the 'monster' and immediately became aware of two things…one, he could hear Dean laughing and two, when he looked down at his hands, he was holding some now mutilated seran wrap.

Sam glared down at his big brother, his heart was still racing in his chest from the fear he'd experienced. "You're a total jerk!" he muttered angrily before entering the bathroom and slamming the door.

Bobby winced at the slam. "If he breaks any doors, _you're_ paying for them," he muttered grimly.

"Sure thing, Old Timer," replied Dean, still chuckling, before making his way back into the kitchen.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Bobby finished loading his supplies into the back of his truck and turned back to the waiting Winchesters.

"Okay, Boys, I'll be back in a couple of days. Now, I know it's really hard for you two idjits, but please try and stay outa trouble while I'm…." Bobby was interrupted as Sam suddenly flew at him, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Do be careful, Uncle Bobby," he implored, his anxious tone mirrored in his expressive hazel eyes.

Bobby patted the young man's back awkwardly. "I'll be fine, kid, you don't need to worry about me, I've been doing this a long time remember? Trust me, okay?"

Ever since Sam had found out while he'd been eating his breakfast that Bobby was going on a hunt, he had been plying both the older hunter and Dean with questions about Black Dogs nonstop. They'd both realised immediately that the youngest Winchester was worried. Dean especially was aware of the fear that the youngster had felt whenever their Dad had gone on a hunting trip.

Sam nodded and planted a kiss on the older hunter's cheek before stepping back.

Bobby didn't think he'd ever get used to Sam kissing him. The real child Sammy had always been openly affectionate - unlike his big brother who reserved freely showing affection for his little brother only - but seeing Sam's six foot four frame leaning towards him to kiss him, he still found disconcerting.

"Be a good boy, Sam, and make sure you mind Dean. I'll be back before you know it." Bobby climbed quickly into the cab of his truck and drove off with a final wave.

Dean reached out and squeezed Sam's shoulder reassuringly. He was anxious to distract his little brother from worrying. "He'll be just fine, Sammy. What do you want to do today?"

"Can we go to the tree-house?"

Dean shook his head and Sam's face fell. "Sorry, kiddo, I promised Bobby I'd man the phones for him. I'll take you there when Bobby gets back, how's that? Is there anything you wanna do here?"

Sam thought for a moment. "We could play Scrabble?" he asked hopefully. Sam had bought the game when they'd gone to the toyshop the day before. It was Pastor Jim who had introduced Sam to the delights of that particular game and he had spent many funfilled hours playing it with the pastor and his father whenever they'd stayed at the rectory. Dean however had hated it and had always found something else to occupy himself with, which was why Sam was hesitant to ask.

There was no way that Dean could resist the beseeching gaze that his little brother had levelled at him. "Course, Sammy, if that's what you want."

Sam beamed, both dimples flashing. "I'll just go set it up," he called over his shoulder as he raced back into the house.

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. _Scrabble indeed_, but if it would make Sammy happy, then he'd willingly put himself through the torture of playing it.

After half an hour, Dean had come to the conclusion that Scrabble could actually be fun, if you cheated that is. Even with Dean's dishonest approach, Sam was still winning and Dean couldn't help the pride that swelled in him whenever he paused to consider just how clever his little brother was.

"Here we go," said Dean brightly as he set down his tiles, "Hey, I get a double letter score and a triple word score for this."

Sam eyed Dean's offering with a frown. "Zannex? What does that mean?"

Every time Dean had used a made-up word, Sam had called him on it. Dean was enjoying practicing his poker face and hustling skills by coming up with answers that would sufficiently fool his brainbox of a brother.

"It's a type of proposal that Members of Parliament in England give to the government when they want to change any laws."

"Really? It sounds rather weird. How do you know that?"

"I'm an adult remember, so I've picked up lots of stuff over the years."

Sam studied Dean intently for a moment, but Dean stared innocently back and after a moment he shrugged. Sam had wanted to check one of Dean's words in a dictionary earlier, but realised pretty quickly that with Uncle Bobby's non-existent filing system, finding a dictionary amongst the haphazardly stacked piles of books would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Dean had smirked, thankful that the kid hadn't yet realised that he could access online dictionaries via the laptop.

In the end, Sam won the game, but only just, thanks to his brother's personal, made-up language

After lunch, Dean settled in front of the TV to watch some daytime soap operas. Sam had rolled his eyes when he saw what his older brother was watching and sat down on the floor to play with his new castle and knights.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

It was nearing 5 o'clock when Dean heard a car approaching. He quickly glanced out of the library window, careful to keep himself hidden from anyone outside. A non-descript blue vehicle was making its way slowly up the drive. Dean took note that there was only one occupant in the car, so hopefully they'd be easy to deal with if they turned out to be a threat.

He and Sam had been in the library for the last hour and a half. A contact of Bobby's had called earlier requesting information on dryads and naiads. As far as Dean was concerned, there was no such thing except in fairytales, but wanting to repay Bobby's kindness in any way possible, he thought he'd get a head-start on the research before the older hunter returned. Sam had been lounging on the worn leather sofa with his head buried in a library book, while Dean had sat at the old, oak desk with countless ancient tomes spread open before him. It was at times like this that he really missed adult Sam's research capacities.

The car drove out of sight around the corner of the house and Dean tensed, waiting. Two minutes later, there was a knock at the front door

"Sammy, I want you to stay here while I get the door. Okay?"

"But…"

Dean cut him off. "I mean it, Sam. We don't know who it is. Stay put." He exited the library and quickly made his way to the front door.

Dean opened the door, so that his body was shielded by it and it also hid the weapon that he had pressed up against the back of it ready to fire if needed.

The figure at the door certainly didn't appear to be a threat – it was an old man, whose back was bent with age and leaning on a walking stick – but Dean had learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving and didn't relax his guard.

"Can I help you, sir?" he enquired politely.

"I'm looking for a Bobby Singer or a Dean Winchester? I was told that I could find them here?"

Dean tensed. _This wasn't a client of Bobby's wanting parts or his vehicle working on then._

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught Dean's attention and he cursed under his breath – Sam had entered the hallway and was looking at their visitor curiously. _Would the kid ever do as he was told?_

"I could pass a message on to them if you would like? Who said you would find them here?" Dean was keen to know who was giving away their location!

The old man smiled. "Now that would be telling. In our line of work, keeping your informants secret is a necessity wouldn't you say?"

Dean's finger tightened on the trigger. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, conscious of Sam's totally vulnerable position at the end of the hall.

"Relax, Mr Winchester." The old man raised his hands placatingly, showing that he was unarmed, "I have a message from my master, Mr Anderson. He would like to meet with you."

Dean wracked his brains…._Anderson…Anderson?_ Recognition hit a moment later…_The Warlock! _Dean couldn't prevent the overwhelming surge of hope that suddenly flourished in his heart, even though he knew it was stupid to get his hopes up, because the warlock might not even agree to help and another part of his mind was screaming to be careful as this might be a trap.

He kept his voice calm and controlled as he replied. "When and where?"

"Two hours from now in the bar on the corner of Maddison and Greenway."

"Can't." Dean's response was immediate. He needed Bobby here to look after Sammy, while he went to meet the warlock, so the meeting would have to wait until the older hunter returned. "We need to reschedule."

"Not an option," replied the old man just as calmly, "My master is not at the beck and call of others. You are honoured that he has deigned to agree to meet you in the first place. If you do not attend, we will leave."

Dean was desperate to stall, he couldn't risk having his only chance to save his brother slip away. "But I can't disclose my business in a public place as it's sensitive in nature, so rescheduling makes sense."

The old man shook his head. "Mr Anderson does not wish to discuss business with you there, he merely wants to get a feel for you and then he will decide whether to grant you an audience or not."

Dean pulled in a deep, steadying breath, trying to find a solution, but drawing a blank.

The man spoke again. "We will be there this evening. It is your choice as to whether you attend or not. Good day to you Mr Winchester." With a wave of his hand, the old man slowly descended the porch steps, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Dean waited until the man had returned to his car and driven off before closing and locking the door. He knew he needed to come up with a plan of action, but first things first, he had a disobedient Sammy to deal with.

Sam saw the look on Dean's face and knew he was in trouble. He tried to back away. "Come on, Dean, I only came in the hallway, I didn't do any harm." He fixed his pleading puppy-dog gaze firmly on his brother.

"Not good enough, Sammy," Dean growled in response, his mind full of the horrific scenarios that could have occurred as a result of Sam disobeying the order, "I told you to stay put."

Dean caught hold of Sam's arm, just as the tall boy turned to flee into the sitting room. Five sharp stinging swats later and Sam was standing forlornly rubbing his now sore backside. Dean stood in front of him with his arms crossed, a stern expression still fixed in place.

"I'm sorry I had to do that, Sammy, but you've got to learn to do as you're told."

Sam had been staring at his feet and now glanced up at his brother, looking exactly like a wounded puppy. "Owww, Dean, that really hurt. I don't like you being able to discipline me," he murmured mournfully.

"It was supposed to hurt. It wouldn't be a very good discipline technique if it didn't now would it?" Dean was having a difficult time maintaining his stern façade under the onslaught of his baby brother's imploring gaze.

"But I didn't do any harm," mumbled Sam, still trying unsuccessfully to rub out the lingering sting left by his brother's hard right hand.

Dean had to bite back a grin, Sam looked exactly as he had at five after being chastised, albeit a little taller. "No, but you could have _come_ to harm, Sammy. You grow up to be a truly amazing hunter…"

"I know you said adult me was a hunter, but so I'm a really good one am I, like Dad?" Sam interrupted.

"You sure are, in fact you're nearly as good as me," he teased with a smirk. "But part of being a good hunter is not taking unnecessary risks and the guy at the door could have been armed and you wouldn't have been able to protect yourself."

"Oh." Sam glanced back down and thought about this for a moment, before looking up through his bangs at his big brother. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean reached out and ruffled Sam's hair affectionately. "Don't worry, kiddo. Just don't let it happen again. Remember that if I ever ask you to do something, I'll always have a darn good reason, okay?"

Sam nodded and bit his lip thoughtfully. "Uh, Dean, what was that guy talking about?"

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Dean was not at all happy with their present course of action, but was effectively cornered and had no choice. It was either take Sam with him to the bar to meet the warlock or miss the only chance of reversing the curse. Leaving Sam behind alone at Bobby's was simply not an option. For that reason, he was immensely glad that the meeting was occurring in a public place – _surely that offered some protection?_ But taking his innocent eight-year-old brother into a bar had all of his protective big brother instincts screaming at him. He'd had to tell the kid something, so Dean had kept it simple, saying that he was going to meet with someone who _might_ be able to help Sam get his memories back, deliberately neglecting to share that the man was a warlock and therefore highly dangerous.

Now, Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, fidgeting with excitement.

"I can't believe I'm getting to go to a bar," he enthused, his hazel eyes shining, "Dad would never let me."

"Neither would I," snorted Dean, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road, "if Bobby were here to babysit you."

"I don't need a babysitter." Dean didn't need to look at Sam to know that he'd now have a pout firmly fixed in place.

"Now remember the rules, Sammy, when we get there, you've gotta do exactly what I say, okay? Bars aren't safe for…" Dean only just managed to stop himself saying the word 'little', not wanting to antagonise his brother "…kids, because people get drunk there and drunk people aren't always rational."

Dean waited for Sam's response and got none. "Sammy?" he queried.

"I'm not stupid, Dean," huffed Sam.

"I know you're not, Tiger, I just wanna keep you safe, okay?"

Sam heard the underlying concern in his brother's words and sighed. "Don't worry, Dean, I'll be good."

"You better be, Squirt, unless you want my hand to have another conversation with your butt."

Sam huffed again indignantly and deliberately turned his back on his big brother to look out of the window at the scenery flashing by.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in the bar's parking lot. In spite of Sam's excitement, he was still nervous and he shadowed his brother closely, which suited Dean just fine.

Dean surveyed the bar with the eye of a hunter as soon as he entered. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary and there was no sign of the old man from earlier. They were however ten minutes early and just because there was no sign of the old man, didn't mean that the warlock himself wasn't here. Dean's senses remained on high alert as he ushered his brother to two stools at the far end of the bar, knowing that this out of the way location would make it less likely that anyone would bother them and also afforded a clear, unhindered view of the rest of the bar.

He ordered himself a beer and an orange juice for Sammy and then settled back to study the patrons already in the bar. At exactly 7 o'clock, the doors swung open and a tall, dark, handsome young man strode confidently in, closely followed by the elderly gentleman who had paid them a visit earlier at Bobby's.

The two newcomers took up residence at the back of the bar at a table near the pool tables. Dean watched them carefully. Magic was obviously at work here, because if the dark-haired stranger was indeed the warlock then he must be using some kind of spell to keep him young, because Philip Anderson had helped Daniel Carter's _grandfather_ when _he_ had been a young man and this man looked to be only a couple of years older than Dean himself.

Sam was prattling on to him about something, but all of his attention was focussed on the two people at the table. Dean wasn't sure what was expected of him. The old man had implied that this was a test of some kind and that if he passed, he would get the chance to ask the warlock to heal his brother. The problem was, Dean had no idea how to pass this test. He decided to just wait and see how things played out.

As Dean watched, the old man nodded in their direction and Dean tensed as the dark-haired man stood up and moved towards them. The man however, stopped a few feet away from them and faced the bar, obviously waiting to be served.

Dean didn't take his eyes off him. If warlocks were as powerful as Bobby made out, then, even though he was Dean's last hope of saving Sammy, he was also undoubtedly a major threat. Dean was well-armed, but he couldn't help wondering what use firearms and knives would be if it came down to a confrontation for any reason.

A barmaid took the man's order and while she was mixing his drinks, he turned to Dean and extended a hand.

"Mr Winchester, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Philip Anderson. Please feel free to call me Philip."

Dean took the proffered hand and shook it. The man's grip was firm.

"Likewise. You can call me Dean." He didn't think it would be wise to offend the one person in the world who could help you.

Dean searched the gaze of the man before him intently, looking for any clues that would give away his intentions. Philip stared back steadfastly and smiled – the smile seemed open and genuine.

"Okay, Dean. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go over to the pool tables and in five minutes, you're going to come over and join me. And then we're just going to chat, make small-talk so to speak, while we play."

"And that's going to help how?" Dean questioned.

Philip chuckled. "Oh, you'd be surprised what you can learn about someone from just a general bit of chit chat." Without waiting for Dean's response, he picked up the two drinks that were now ready and returned to the table that he had vacated.

Dean turned to Sam, who was watching Philip curiously. "Is that the man who might be able to help me?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it is. Now I've gotta go over there for a little while, so I want you to stay right here. You don't move from this spot, understood?"

"What if I need to go to the bathroom?" asked Sam impishly, his dimples making an appearance.

"You think you might have to go? I'll take you now then." Dean knew girls went to the bathroom together all the time (though he wasn't sure why), but it was unheard of for guys. But there was no way he'd let his little brother go alone, not in a place like this, with a warlock on the loose. He was also well aware of the conclusions that people would draw if he went with Sam. Dean sighed – having a de-aged brother in an adult's body definitely didn't help his manly, studly image any.

Sam blushed at the thought of being escorted to the toilet by his big brother. "No, I don't have to go. And I wouldn't need you to take me if I did!"

With a final warning to Sam to stay put, Dean sauntered over to the pool tables where Philip was waiting. He was relieved that he would have an unobstructed view of his younger brother from over there and he also left his beer at the bar, so that he would have a convenient excuse to go back and check on Sam.

Sam watched the goings on around him with interest. He really enjoyed people-watching. Occasionally, he glanced over at his big brother who was playing pool with the man who had introduced himself earlier. Sam wished he could go and play pool too – it looked like fun. After half an hour though, Sam started to get bored of just sitting and watching.

He glanced at Dean's half-drunk beer bottle in front of him and suddenly he was curious. _What did alcohol taste like?_ Sam glanced furtively up at his brother. Dean was busy lining up a shot, facing the other way. He glanced surreptitiously around, telling himself that to everyone else he looked like an adult, so they wouldn't try and stop him or think anything strange if they saw him drinking a beer. Trying to appear nonchalant, Sam picked up the bottle and took a deep swig.

Without thinking, Sam immediately spat the foul liquid back into the bottle, his face scrunched up in disgust. _It was much worse than the coffee! _He quickly drank the rest of his orange juice in attempt to rid his mouth of the bitter taste. _How could anyone drink the stuff?_

Dean turned and checked on Sam after potting his ball for what must have been the millionth time since the game had started. He'd not let more than a minute pass without making sure that the boy was okay. This time, his younger sibling was chugging back his orange juice as if he was dying of thirst. He took his next shot, before turning to Philip and indicating the bar with a casual sweep of his hand.

"I left my drink over there. I'll be back in a minute, I'll just go fetch it."

Philip nodded his acquiescence, his deep brown eyes following the young hunter as he moved, his expression thoughtful. Dean too was thinking about his pool partner. He was especially on his guard, because he found himself unwittingly wanting to relax in the warlock's presence. Their conversation had been light, touching on a great many topics, classic cars being one of them, and under other circumstances Dean would have been enjoying himself. As it was, the more at ease he felt, the more Dean's conscious mind screamed _be careful!_

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam physically jumped when his brother placed his hand on his shoulder. "Uh…hi, Dean."

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean was concerned – his little brother seemed flustered.

Sam studied his brother for a moment. Dean didn't look mad, so he relaxed, coming to the conclusion that luckily, he hadn't seen him drinking his beer.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. But I'm getting bored. Can we go soon?"

"Not yet, Sammy." Dean caught the attention of the barmaid with a flirtatious wink. "Can I have an extra large orange juice please?"

"Sure, sugar. Can I get you anything else?" although the question was innocuous enough, there was a definite suggestive quality to it.

The barmaid was very easy on the eye, curvy in all the right places and if he hadn't been chaperoning his eight-year-old brother and entertaining a warlock, Dean would most likely have taken her up on her unspoken offer.

As it was, he sighed regretfully and shook his head. "That'll be all thanks."

"Well, if you change your mind…" she left the rest of her sentence unspoken as she handed him the orange juice and turned to serve another customer.

Dean set the orange down in front of Sam. At Sam's blank look, he nodded towards the empty glass. "I thought you might be thirsty, kiddo."

"Oh, thanks, Dean." Sam's tone took on a whine. "How much longer will we have to stay?"

"Not sure, kid. Just hang in there for a while longer, okay?" Dean picked up his beer and tilted the neck of the bottle towards his lips.

Sam's eyes widened. "Errr, Dean…."

Dean set the bottle down, looking at his younger sibling worriedly. "Yeah, Sammy? Are you sure you're okay?"

Sam hesitated – he could either keep his mouth shut and let Dean drink some of his spit or he could confess and not live to see his ninth birthday. Self-preservation won out. "It doesn't matter. Yeah, I'm fine Dean. Quit mollycoddling me. Just try hurry up 'cause I'm bored."

Dean picked up his beer again and took a large swig, he didn't notice Sam's grimace as he did so. "I'll be as quick as I can."

This time, Dean carried his beer over to the pool table, knowing that it would look suspicious if he left it behind again and he wanted to keep all attention away from Sam if possible.

"Who's that you came with?" Philip nodded towards Sam.

Dean tried to appear calm and unconcerned. "Just a friend."

Sam started swinging his feet in frustration. Another fifteen minutes had passed since Dean had bought him his second glass of orange juice and returned to his game of pool. The novelty of being in a bar had totally worn off now and Sam couldn't understand why people would choose to come here. It wasn't fun at all.

"Why hello there."

Sam looked up to find that a woman had sat down on the stool next to him.

"Hello." Sam tried to be polite. Dean had warned him beforehand that people might talk to him in the bar and that he was to just be polite and not tell them anything about himself.

"What's your name, honey?" She was highly intoxicated and was having difficulty staying upright on the high bar stool.

Sam didn't want to be impolite, but also had been told not to divulge anything about himself, so he deflected the question with one of his own. "What's your name?"

"My name's Tamara." She seemed to have forgotten that he hadn't told her his own name. "You're a bit of all right. What do you say we hook up and blow this joint?"

Sam wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but guessed that she wanted him to go somewhere with her. "No thank you, I'd like to stay here if that's okay?"

"Ooooh, playing hard to get are we? I like a challenge." She gave a drunken giggle.

Sam was feeling extremely uncomfortable. He was shy of strangers at the best of times and he'd quickly realised that this one was totally drunk. He could see her swaying on the stool and had also picked up on her slurred speech. He recognised the signs because Sam had witnessed his Dad getting intoxicated every year on the 2nd of November. Dean had tried to explain that it was because he missed their Mom so much. Originally, Sam had been told that their mother had died in a car crash on that date, but since reading his Dad's journal, he knew the truth.

Sam glanced towards Dean. Dean was busy studying a picture that Philip was showing him and wasn't looking his way. He sucked in his breath sharply as Tamara reached out and rested her hand on his knee.

"What do you say we have some fun, baby?"

"I'm not a b-baby," he stammered, as her hand started to slide further up his thigh. Sam did not like her touching him at all, but she was an adult, so how could he tell her to stop it? His dad had always taught him and Dean to respect their elders and he didn't want to make this woman mad at him.

"You don't like 'baby' huh? Well how about hot-blooded hunk then?" She squeezed his thigh with the hand that she had resting there, which was now at the very top and reached out her other hand to caress his cheek.

Sam was now feeling very panicked. He wanted nothing more than to move away from this woman, but Dean had told him to stay put and he didn't want to be spanked again. He decided to try being polite and ask nicely.

"Please st-stop it, I d-don't like it" he stammered.

"You don't, honey? Well perhaps you'll like this instead?"

Tamara cupped the back of his head with her right hand, still squeezing his thigh with her left and pulled him towards her. Sam had no inkling of what she was about to do until her lips met his and she began to kiss him. Now Sam reacted on pure instinct and pushed back away from her. Unfortunately, this resulted in Sam toppling backwards off the bar stool and smashing his head on the hard, tiled floor. The only positive outcome of this manoeuvre was that Tamara let go of him.

Dean had been looking at a photograph of Philip's family when he heard the crash. Philip had asked about Dean's family and when Dean had insisted that he had none, the warlock hadn't pressed. He had however insisted on showing the young hunter a picture of his own extensive family and had been painstakingly explaining who everyone in the photograph was.

At the unexpected noise, Dean whipped his head around to see his baby brother sprawled on his back on the floor with a young woman hovering over him. For a moment he thought she was maybe attacking him and reached for his gun, which was concealed in the waistband of his jeans, but then realised that she was asking him if he was alright.

Without a backward glance at the warlock, Dean ran across the bar towards his brother. By the time he'd reached him, Sam had pushed himself into a sitting position and was cradling his head, sobbing.

Dean knelt down next to the boy and Sam immediately turned and buried his face in Dean's t-shirt.

"What happened, Tiger? You okay?" Dean could tell that his brother most definitely wasn't okay and the only conclusion that Dean could draw was that the kid had somehow managed to fall off the bar stool and presumably had hurt himself when he landed.

"My head," sobbed Sam, sounding muffled as he didn't move from his buried position.

Dean suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and he tensed, moving one hand stealthily to grasp the handle of his firearm. Looking up, he realised that Philip and the old man were standing behind him.

"We'll be off now, Dean. Thanks for a most entertaining evening. I'll be in touch. I hope your _friend's_ okay."

Dean watched as they exited the bar, before returning his attention to his little brother. He kept one arm around Sam's shoulders, hugging him and used the other hand to gently feel the back of the boy's head. There was a definite lump and Sam whimpered as Dean's fingers ghosted over it.

Dean was aware that they were being stared at, but didn't care. All he cared about was soothing Sammy and getting him patched up.

"Hush, Tiger, it's okay." He ran a soothing hand up and down Sam's back.

Tamara stood watching. "I'm really sorry," she slurred, "I didn't mean to knock him off the stool when I kissed him."

"You _kissed _him?" Dean was aghast. His eight-year-old brother had just been in effect sexually assaulted.

"Can we go home now, Dean?" sniffled Sam.

Dean turned his attention from glaring at the obviously drunk woman back to his sibling and helped Sam to stand.

"Course, Sammy."

As the tall boy stood, he dragged the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away his tears before reaching out to hold his big brother's hand. Dean felt the anger building when he saw the lipstick smeared over Sam's mouth – anger at the woman and also anger at himself for bringing Sam into this environment in the first place. He squeezed Sam's hand reassuringly and led the still sniffling boy out to the Impala. He quickly buckled Sam into the passenger seat and moved around to the driver's side.

"I'm gonna get us home as quick as I can, so I can give you some medicine for the pain. Okay, buddy?"

Sam nodded and sniffed.

""I'm really really sorry, Sammy."

"Why?" Sam was genuinely puzzled, "It wasn't your fault, Dean. I only fell off, because I was trying to get away when she kissed me." At the memory, a look of disgust marred Sam's features and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It was horrible, Dean."

"I'm sure it was." Dean glanced over, taking in Sam's tearstained face and pained expression. He didn't think the blow to his head was enough to cause concussion, but you could never be too careful. "I'm sorry, Sammy, because I knew bars weren't suitable places for kids and yet I took you anyway."

Sam offered his brother a weak smile. "Don't be daft, Dean. It's not your fault. I could meet someone drunk like that in the street. I just didn't know what to do when she touched me."

Dean's heart stopped. _She touched him? Please, God, no – not his innocent baby brother!_

He tried to keep his voice casual. "Where did she touch you, Sammy?"

"My leg and I didn't like it."

"Anywhere else?"

"Yeah, my cheek. I wanted her to stop, but I'm not allowed to be rude to an adult, so didn't know what to do."

Dean let out a relieved sigh – his baby brother's innocence was still intact. "Sammy, this is important, I need you to listen….if _anyone_ ever touches you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable, you can tell them to stop, even if they're an adult, okay? And if they don't, then you're to go and get help, because no-one's allowed to do that to you if you don't want them to. Understand?"

Sam nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Why does anybody let girls kiss them then? It's not nice, so they should tell them to stop,"

Dean chuckled. "Well sometimes it is nice, Sammy. You'll understand when you're older."

Sam shook his head "Nuh-uh, I won't ever think kissing a girl's nice!"

By the time they got back to Bobby's, it had just gone half past eight. Dean gave Sam two spoonfuls of the strawberry-flavoured children's medicine and checked his head once more.

He waited until Sam had changed for bed and then tucked him in, dropping a gentle kiss on his forehead. Dean knew without Sam having to ask that due to the splitting headache he was experiencing, he was unsettled and wouldn't want his big brother to leave him. Dean seated himself on the edge of the bed and began carding his fingers gently through Sam's chocolate brown bangs. After ten minutes, the boy's eyes began to droop as the painkillers finally began to kick in.

Once Dean was certain that his brother was asleep, he stood up, careful not to jolt the sleeping boy. As he made his way quietly downstairs, he pondered the meeting with Philip Anderson. _Would the warlock be willing to help them? Had he passed the test?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

Dean awoke immediately on hearing the muffled whimper, attuned as he always had been to his little brother.

Sam shifted in his bed, hugging Digger tightly to him, drawing comfort from the stuffed toy as he raised his other hand to press against his temples. His head felt like it was going to explode – the headache from earlier had returned with a vengeance. He didn't want to wake Dean though. _He wasn't a wimp!_ _Surely the headache would just go away soon anyway?_

Dean switched on the bedside lamp. "Sammy?" his concern was evident in his tone.

"'M fine, Dean. You can go back to sleep."

Completely ignoring Sam's false reassurance, Dean was out of bed and by his brother's side in a split second. He took in the lines of pain on Sam's face and how the boy was holding his head before reaching out to press the back of his own hand against Sam's forehead to check for fever. He was relieved to find it cool.

"Headache, huh?"

Sam nodded. How could he have thought he'd be able to fool Dean? He hadn't been able to hide when he was hurting from kid Dean, so he'd stand no chance against an older and wiser adult Dean.

"Yeah, but I can handle it, so you can go back to bed."

Dean ignored his brother and instead checked his wristwatch, as it was nearly 3am, Sam could luckily have another dose of painkillers. Dean left the room and quickly returned with the strawberry flavoured medicine.

"Open up, kiddo." Sam obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the medicine that Dean offered him.

Glancing down, Sam realised that he was still hugging Digger. The boy blushed and surreptitiously pushed the stuffed dog off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, hoping that his brother hadn't noticed the toy.

Dean sighed, noting Sam's discomfort and action, knowing that it was his mean big brother teasing all those years ago that had caused this reaction. He reached down and picked up the toy, deliberately cradling it to his chest. _Maybe, just maybe, he could right one wrong and undo the damage he had unwittingly wrought all those years ago?_ Dean was determined to try.

"What did poor Digger do to get kicked out of his nice warm bed, huh?"

Sam contemplated Dean, his brow furrowed with puzzlement and his cheeks still pink with embarrassment. He had groaned inwardly when he had seen Dean stooping to pick up the dog. _He was busted!_ But instead of the expected ridicule, Sam was greeted with the sight of his _macho,_ _wise-ass_, _dead-against-chick-flick moments older brother_ actually hugging a stuffed animal. Dean's tone was also light, teasing and affectionate, not scornful or deriding as he anticipated.

"Errr….I…..well…." Sam looked down, studying his hands, "I know I'm being a big baby by sleeping with him. It's just that….just, well….."

When the boy trailed off, Dean placed two fingers under his chin and tilted his head up gently, forcing Sam to look at him. "Just what?" Dean pressed softly.

Sam's warm hazel eyes began to swim with unshed tears. "I dunno how to explain it…I'm happy, I really am, but….. with everything being different it's also…..well….. kinda scary, you know?" Sam's words came out in a rush, looking imploringly at Dean, searching his big brother's face for some indication that he understood.

Dean nodded. "I know, Sammy, I can imagine how confusing some things must be for you now. I mean, I know I'm not the brother you remember."

Sam shook his head vehemently, denying Dean's assertion. "You're still _my_ Dean! It doesn't matter that you're older. It's everything else. And it's not just that…..I really miss Dad, I just want him to come home! I know it's stupid 'cause Digger's not real, but he makes me feel better."

Dean reached out and gently thumbed away the solitary tear that escaped and slipped down Sam's cheek. He had been considering how to broach the painful subject of John Winchester with his little brother, but with the warlock, Philip Anderson initiating contact, Dean felt that he had been given a heaven-sent reprieve. Dean hoped against hope that Sam would soon be cured and that he would never have to explain to the kid that his Dad was dead.

Dean had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he was able to speak. "I'm sure Dad's gonna be back real soon, Sammy, so don't you worry. But let me get one thing straight, okay? You're definitely _not_ a baby for sleeping with Digger, you're allowed to sleep with stuffed toy when you're eight!"

"But you said…"

Dean cut him off. "I was a jerk for saying it and it wasn't true. I was just following the centuries old rule of big brothers being pain-in-the-butts to little brothers."

Sam once again searched his brother's face intently, trying to see if Dean meant what he had said.

"You're not just saying that 'cause I'm upset?"

Dean shook his head. "Look, Sammy, who's gonna know more? Twelve-year-old me or adult me?"

"Adult you," replied Sam without hesitation.

"Yeah well, adult me knows that it's fine to sleep with a teddy bear when you're eight. Heck, it's fine to sleep with one when you're _ten_. Granted, if you were sleeping with one when you were fifteen, I might worry….though girls still sleep with them then and seeing as you're a great big girl, maybe it would be alright…."

As Dean had hoped, the teasing brought a dimpled grin to his brother's face.

"Jerk," muttered Sam softly, punching Dean on the arm.

"You hit like a girl, Princess," Dean grinned back.

Sam yawned and settled back against his pillows. The painkillers had kicked in and his headache was thankfully beginning to subside. He reached out wordlessly and Dean knew exactly what his baby brother wanted. Dean handed over Digger and smiled when the boy cuddled the toy to him openly, rather than trying to hide it under the bedclothes.

"You okay now, kiddo?"

Sam nodded sleepily. "Thanks Dean. Love you."

"Right back at you kid." Dean pressed a gentle kiss to Sam's forehead before returning to his own bed and switching off the lamp, sending the room into velvety darkness once more.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean walked into the living room carrying two sodas. He'd been working in Bobby's autoshop all morning. Sam had opted to stay in the house and watch cartoons, though he had promised to go and fetch Dean immediately if any of Bobby's phones rang.

For a moment Dean stood in the doorway, watching his brother, a fond smile slipping unbidden onto his face. The TV was still on, but the tall boy was sprawled on his stomach on the carpet, his tongue peeking out between his teeth in concentration as he focussed on the model that he was building out of Lego.

Sam suddenly seemed to sense that he was being watched and glanced up. Dean was rewarded with a full two-dimpled grin.

"Hey, Dean, You finished on the car?"

"For now. Whatcha makin', Sammy?" He handed his brother one of the sodas.

Sam held his model up proudly for Dean to see.

Dean studied the misshapen lump carefully and drew a total blank. Sam looked at his brother's expression and his face immediately fell.

"It's rubbish isn't it? You can't tell what it is. It's supposed to be the Millennium Falcon."

Dean couldn't bear the look of disappointment on Sam's face. "'Course I could tell what it was," he lied, "I was just teasin' by pretending I didn't. Big brother prerogative and all that."

"Really?" questioned Sam hopefully.

Dean nodded, his best poker playing face in place. "It looks exactly like the Millennium Falcon."

Sam's smile returned. "Play with me, Dean?"

"Sure, kiddo." Dean lowered himself down onto the carpet next to his brother. He felt he was gradually getting better at this playing malarkey.

Sam held out a Lego figurine to his brother. "Who do you wanna be? Luke or Han?"

Dean smirked. "Oh, definitely Han Solo," he said, taking the toy from his brother.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

The TV droned on, showing some cop show or other, but Dean wasn't really paying attention. Even though his eyes were fixed on the screen, his mind was a million miles away. He had hoped to hear from the warlock today. But it was now seven o'clock and there had been no visitors or phone calls all day. _Does this mean I failed the test?_ Dean angrily pushed the thought away. He refused to contemplate even for a second the possibility that the only chance of saving Sam had slipped through his fingers. He forcibly tried to concentrate on the detectives on the screen. _How long do I have to wait before I can assume I'm never gonna hear from the warlock again?_ The traitorous thought slipped out and Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He stood up with a growl, giving up on the idea that the TV could distract him. Little brothers, however, he figured would be a good distraction and went in search of Sam.

As his older brother had cooked the supper, Sam had been left with the job of washing the dishes. Dean entered the kitchen and paused for a moment, watching Sam playing with the bubbles in the sink. The boy was scooping them up and squeezing them to make them pop before repeating the process. Dean grinned and tiptoed up behind his oblivious brother before reaching out and tickling the boy's sides. Sam shrieked and whirled around to face his sibling. Dean, meanwhile, kept up his tickle attack.

"Stop it…..Dean….ungh…no…..get off me….no….," Sam couldn't speak properly through his laughter.

Dean paid no heed to Sam's pleading, so the tall boy scooped up some more bubbles and threw them at his brother. The shock of the bubbles hitting his face had the desired result as far as Sam was concerned – Dean immediately dropped his hands from his brother's ticklish sides. A moment later, Dean recovered and after wiping a hand across his face to remove the soap suds, a devilish grin lit up his handsome features. He scooped up his own handful of bubbles and threw them at Sam. A moment later, a full-blown bubble war was in progress.

**Elsewhere in an abandoned factory:**

Jason Wentworth leaned over the boy who was lying on the floor panting. He kicked the boy sharply in the ribs.

"What can you do?" he growled.

"I don't know what you mean," sobbed the boy, "I just wanna go home."

"Have you ever seen anyone with yellow eyes?" persisted Jason with another kick.

Finally he got a response out of the boy other than confusion. "Wh-what? How can you know about that? He's only a d-dream!" stammered the boy.

Jason was immediately on full alert. "Tell me about your dreams!"

When an answer was not immediately forthcoming, Jason reached down and grabbed the boy's hair before slamming his head forcibly into the concrete floor. "Answer me!"

"I just d-dream about him sometimes. H-he says I'm special and th-that everyone w-will bow down to me, but it's not real, it's j-just a dream!"

Jason snorted and shook his head. Azazel may be a first tier demon himself, but if he thought that any demon from any level would willingly bow to a human, then he was deluded.

Jason glanced up as he heard someone approaching. Jeanette Leaver strode towards him, flicking her red hair impatiently over her shoulder. Jason could tell immediately by her expression that there was a new development. He glanced down at the boy lying at his feet.

"Don't go anywhere," he said maliciously, giving him another swift kick before moving quickly to meet Jeanette.

"News?" he questioned.

She nodded. "You know I said it was too much of a risk to go after Sam Winchester? Well, I've changed my mind."

Jason licked his lips. Anger curled in the pit of his stomach at the mention of the hunter. He had been bested by a _child_ and that was a humiliation that he had been struggling to bear, but now it seemed that he would be able to get his revenge after all.

"What made you change your mind?" he questioned.

"Rumour has it that Sam Winchester is Azazel's _favourite._ This gem of information was apparently let slip by _Alistair_ himself. If Sam Winchester is the favourite, there must be a reason for that surely? Maybe by interrogating him we will finally be able to discover what Azazel's end-game is?"

Jason deliberately didn't point out that if the young hunter _had_ known anything about Azazel's plans, he would have forgotten it due to the de-aging curse he was under, as all he wanted was to get his hands on the brat and pay him back for the humiliation he had caused.

"How do you propose we take him?" he asked instead.

"We need to separate him from his brother somehow. Come with me. We have plans to make."

Jason willingly followed Jeanette towards the small office area…

**Back at Bobby's:**

Dean was still laughing as he surveyed his soaked, bubble-covered brother, counter tops and floor, knowing that he himself was just as wet.

"Good thing Bobby's not here," he chuckled, indicating the mess with a sweep of his hand.

Sam was still giggling as he went to retrieve the mop. He began to dry the floor as Dean began to clean the counter with a cloth. "Yeah, he'd kill us."

Dean grinned – he had been right, Sam had completely distracted him from his melancholy mood.

Half an hour later, the kitchen was finally back in order and Dean was sitting on the sofa with Sam snuggled against his side reading a book. Both of them were dressed for bed as their clothes had been so damp from the bubble fight that they had had to get changed.

A short while later, Dean smiled as he felt Sam's head drop onto his shoulder. The kid was fast asleep, his book having slipped from his hand onto his lap. Dean glanced at the clock – it was nearly Sam's official bedtime anyway.

Dean didn't want to disturb the slumbering boy. He ran a gentle hand through his chestnut locks. "Sleep well, kiddo," he murmured, turning his attention back to the TV. Having Sam curled up against him and feeling his even puffs of breath against his collar bone, brought Dean an unexpected sense of peace and reassurance – Sam was safe, and he was happy.

Sam slept right through until 11:30pm when Dean finally decided it was time to retire to bed himself. He looked down at the sleeping boy for a moment, wishing that he could simply carry his brother to bed as he had done on numerous occasions when he really had been eight. With his brother's gargantuan adult frame however, Dean knew that a bridal carry would be impossible and realised that an attempted fireman's carry would most definitely wake him up anyway.

Reluctantly, he reached out and shook Sam's arm gently. "Sammy, buddy? It's time for bed."

Sam's hazel eyes blinked blearily open. "Ummm?" he grumbled.

"Come on," instructed Dean, wrapping an arm around the boy's waist and physically hauling him to his feet.

Sam was still more than half-asleep and would have fallen if Dean hadn't been holding him upright. He leaned heavily on his brother.

Dean somehow managed to get his stumbling sibling up the stairs and into the bedroom. He pulled back the covers, noticing with a smile that Digger was now sitting proudly on top of them, not stowed away, hidden somewhere. Sam half-crawled, half-fell onto the mattress, burying his face into his pillow.

Dean carefully placed the stuffed toy in the crook of Sam's arm, feeling warm inside when his brother instinctively hugged the dog to him and pulled the covers back up, tucking the boy in snuggly.

Sam was already fast asleep once more. Dean dropped a kiss on the back of the tousled head.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured before moving towards the bathroom to take care of business before bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note**: I'm really sorry that it has taken me so long to update! My Gran died in December and then work has been completely hectic and I've been incredibly stressed, not to mention that whenever I did have a spare minute to try and sit down and write this, it just wouldn't flow for me. I guarantee that this story will get finished though, I won't abandon it. Thanks to everyone who has tagged or reviewed this story since I last updated, as it let me know people were still interested…

**Chapter 13:**

Sam was bored. That morning, a hunter friend of Bobby's had called, urgently requesting a number of ancient protection chants. As a result, Dean had been holed up in the library for three solid hours now. Sam had periodically pestered his older brother to play with him, but each time he had been told he had to wait until the research was finished and each time Sam had pouted in response.

In the end, Sam had finally given up and returned upstairs to lay on his bed and read his last library book. Half an hour later, Sam had finished the story and sat up with an exaggerated sigh. He thought for a moment, debating what to do next. He assumed that Dean was still doing that research for Uncle Bobby's friend and so his big brother would be no fun.

He flopped down on his back with another sigh, putting his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. Sam unconsciously chewed on his lower lip as he wracked his brains. It was raining outside, otherwise, he could have gone out into the yard to continue Buster's training (the dog could reliably fetch at least half of the time now – a fact that Sam was extremely proud of) or ridden his bicycle around. Suddenly an idea came to him and a grin slowly spread across the boy's face…..

Dean heard the almighty crash and took the stairs two at a time, hand hovering over his firearm down the back of his jeans as he ran. Skidding around the doorframe to the room he shared with his brother, he slid to a halt, taking in the scene before him in surprise. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it definitely wasn't _this _ - Sam was sitting on the floor, the baseboard of his bed having completely collapsed, all the blankets having slid down into a heaped mess on the floor. Dean could just see one of Digger's furry legs sticking out from the jumble.

Sam looked up as his brother arrived in the room. "Please don't tell Uncle Bobby, Dean. I didn't mean to break the bed. Honest," he pleaded, "I don't wanna get yelled at."

_Break the bed?_ Dean was puzzled. He'd assumed that the bed must have had a weak point and just broken by itself. _Just what the hell had Sammy been doing to break the bed?_

"What did you do?"

Sam glanced down at his lap looking sheepish. "Errr….well…I was kinda jumpin' on it."

Dean stared uncomprehending for a moment before a bark of laughter exploded from him.

"It's not funny, Dean," pouted Sam, "Uncle Bobby's gonna be really mad at me. He's already had to buy you a new bed and now he'll have to buy another one and it'll cost him a lot of money."

Dean was now doubled over with laughter. He couldn't help it – the image of his six foot four brother bouncing on the bed was overwhelming. It was incredibly lucky that the ceilings were really high or he might have ended up with a little brother with concussion, a hole in the ceiling, or both.

Looking at Sam's genuinely troubled expression, Dean made a valiant attempt to swallow his laughter, though he couldn't stop grinning and dropped onto one knee beside his brother.

"I won't tell, I swear. Anyway, maybe I can fix it…."

"Really?" asked Sam hopefully.

Dean was already examining the broken end of the bed and after a moment he nodded. "Yeah, kiddo, if I replace the old screws but make them slightly off-centre, the bed should be as good as new."

Sam smiled, relieved. "That's great, Dean. You're the best!"

Dean reached out and ruffled Sam's chocolate bangs affectionately. "I wouldn't recommend bouncing on the bed again though, junior. Your adult body is just too heavy." _Not to mention too tall._

Sam scowled. "I wish I could either be a proper kid or a proper adult. This body's stupid. It stops me having fun! I can't jump on the bed. I can't go to school. And I bet you can't give me piggy-backs no more either and I wanna go to the park, but I know I'm too big for the swings and stuff now. I want my memories back!"

The grin was wiped completely off Dean's face at Sam's little tirade. On the one hand, Sam's eight-year-old persona seemed so well-adjusted and happy that it was easy to forget that it must also be traumatic for the kid.

_What if Sam's stuck like this permanently?_ A little voice niggled at the back of Dean's mind, but he immediately quashed it. _No, Sammy __**would**__ be okay. Surely they'd hear from the warlock today?_

Dean opened his mouth, even though he wasn't sure what he could possibly say to reassure his little brother, but it proved unnecessary as Sam spoke again.

"Hey, Dean, did you finish that research? Can you play with me now?" With the resilience of a child, Sam was smiling again and looking up expectantly at his big brother.

"Actually…." Dean forced himself to smile back, "I'd just found the last chant and only need to ring him and tell him. Come on. Then we can play." Dean stood and held out his hand so he could pull his brother to his feet.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~**

Bobby arrived home at 2 o clock the following afternoon. Sam heard his truck pulling up outside and immediately bolted from the cabin. Bobby suddenly found himself engulfed in a frantic hug from the youngest Winchester the second he exited the vehicle.

"I was so worried Uncle Bobby. I'm glad you're back," Sam murmured, his shaggy head buried in the crook of the older hunter's shoulder.

Bobby patted the boy's back awkwardly. "You didn't need to worry, son. I've been doin' this job a long time." He glanced up and saw Dean standing on the porch. "Your big brother been takin' good care of you?"

Sam finally pulled back from the hug and nodded. "Yeah. We've played lotsa games 'n stuff. And he took me to a bar. It was boring."

Bobby did a double take, his eyes immediately seeking out Dean's. The older hunter knew that there was no way that the eldest Winchester would ever expose his innocent eight-year-old brother to such an environment without a darn good reason. Seeing Bobby's questioning look, Dean shook his head imperceptibly, knowing that the other man would get the message that he didn't want to talk about it in front of Sam.

"What happened on the hunt, Uncle Bobby?" Sam was totally oblivious to the silent conversation that had passed between his older brother and his surrogate uncle.

"We got the Black Dog, but it wasn't at all exciting." Bobby was determined not to share any gory details with the youngster. "I stopped off on the way back and bought you something."

"You did?" Sam's eyes lit up. "What did you get me?" The boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

Bobby chuckled, reached into his rucksack and took out a book which he handed straight to the animated child. "I got you the first Harry Potter book."

"Thank you, Uncle Bobby!" Sam stared at the book in his hands enthralled.

"You're spoiling him you know," put in Dean dryly, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face at his little brother's obvious delight.

Bobby snorted. "And you're not?"

The two men shared a look of understanding – growing up, both Sam and Dean had been anything but spoiled. Their nomadic hunting lifestyle had allowed for little frivolity and money had always been tight. It wasn't that John hadn't wanted to give his kids things, but more that he lacked the means to do so. Both men were determined to make up for that lack of normal childhood treats in any way possible while they had the chance. Sam's full two-dimpled smile as he flipped the book over and eagerly read the blurb warmed both their hearts.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~**

Dean told Bobby all about the meeting with Philip Anderson that evening after Sam was safely tucked up in bed.

"And you've not heard from him since?" questioned Bobby, frowning as he tried to process everything that Dean had told him.

"No, and that freaks me out, you know? I mean, how long can it take for him to decide whether to help?" Dean slammed his fist down on the table in frustration. "I mean, did I do somethin' wrong? Did I fail the test? I bet I did! What if Sammy's stuck like this now because of somethin' I did or didn't do? I bet I said something wrong…..or maybe it's 'cause I abandoned him at the pool table, but what was I supposed to do when Sammy fell? Or maybe I…."

Dean's self-deprecating tirade was stopped short by Bobby's trademark baseball cap whacking him sharply across the back of his head.

"OWW, Bobby!"

"Dean Winchester why do you always think everything that goes wrong where Sam is concerned is your fault, yah idjit? Warlocks are one of the most powerful entities out there…do you really think you phrasing a sentence in a slightly unfavourable way is gonna make a difference? I mean you didn't outright insult or attack him did you? So how can you be the reason if he doesn't help? Hell, we don't even know that he even actually planned to help in the first place! You said it yourself – you said he was curious as to how we knew of him. I know you don't wanna hear it, but maybe he was just satisfying his curiosity!"

Dean sank down in his chair in despair. "I know Bobby, but I found myself liking the guy, you know? I'm sure that was just some kind of spell though to try and get me off my guard. I just wanna fix Sammy!"

"I know you do, son." Bobby reached out and dropped a comforting, calloused hand on Dean's shoulder.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~**

Sam quickly reached under his pillow to turn off the blaring alarm clock. He had set the ring to the quietest setting, but was anxious to not awaken his brother. He had set the alarm for 3 am – Sam knew that the adult version of his brother stayed up late, but figured it was safe to assume that Dean would be asleep by then.

The boy was keen to try out another prank that he had read about in the practical joke book at the library. This particular prank had sounded really funny, but the eight-year-old was sceptical that it would actually work. The book had said that if a person's hand was placed in a bowl of lukewarm water, they would wet the bed. To Sam, this didn't sound logical. _Why would wetting someone's hand make them pee? But if it didn't work, no harm done and if it did, he'd get one up on Dean!_

Sam reached under his bed to retrieve the plastic mixing bowl that he'd hidden there earlier after he had 'borrowed' it from the kitchen and stealthily made his way to the bathroom.

Re-entering the bedroom, the boy tiptoed over to Dean's bed, holding the bowl carefully with both hands so that he wouldn't accidentally spill it. Unfortunately for Sam, he had neglected to tidy his toy cars away when he had been playing with them earlier and as he stood on one, his foot slipped out from under him. Acting on pure instinct, the boy flung both arms out in a desperate attempt to regain his balance. He succeeded in staying on his feet, but the price he paid for that blessing was that he inadvertently tipped the entire bowl of water over his slumbering big brother!

Dean was awake in an instant, reaching automatically for the pistol concealed under his pillow. He bolted upright, his hunter instincts on high alert, eyes searching meticulously for any possible threats.

After a moment, Dean realised that the only thing out of the ordinary was his humungous little brother standing by the side of his bed. Sam's silhouette was clearly visible thanks to the dim light filtering through the bedroom curtains. Realising that there was no threat, it finally registered with Dean that he was soaking wet.

"Sam!" he growled, "What did you do? Why am I all wet?"

Sam thought fast.

"Errrr, ummm…..I was, umm, thirsty, so I got up to get a drink, but then I, errr…..well I tripped….."

Just like Sam had been an awful actor at age eight, he was also a terrible liar. Dean was eternally grateful that this skill had also improved with age, as lying was a necessary talent when masquerading as various types of law officials, priests, inspectors or whoever else was required in order to defeat the big bad supernatural beastie.

Dean leaned over and flipped on the bedside lamp.

"A drink, huh?"

Sam nodded.

"In a bowl?"

Sam glanced down flustered at the incriminating bowl in his hand, before looking back up, a blush colouring his cheeks.

"I….well…umm…"

"Save it, Kid, before you dig yourself in any deeper." Dean sat up and peeled his wet t-shirt off with a grimace. "You know that tossing water over people is a rubbish prank don't you, something a kindergartner would do?" he said conversationally.

"I know that, Dean!" huffed Sam indignantly, "I wouldn't pull such a baby prank!"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't huh? Well what exactly were you planning on doing then?"

Sam shook his head, refusing to answer, hiding behind his bangs.

_Water….he was sleeping….some kind of prank….._ Suddenly an idea hit and Dean thought he could guess pretty accurately what his bratty little brother had been up to.

"You were trying to make me wet the bed weren't you?"

Sam's frantic shaking of his head and his stammered "No" was all the confirmation that Dean needed that he was right.

"You do realise that prank doesn't actually work, don't you?" _In reality, Dean had no idea whether it worked or not, he just didn't want his baby brother attempting to do it to him ever again! If it actually did work, it would be mortifying!_

Sam was grateful his brother didn't seem mad and he looked on the bright side: at least he'd learned something knew – _putting your hand in a bowl of warm water didn't make you wet the bed._ The next moment the boy spluttered as Dean's sopping t-shirt hit him in the face.

"Eeeww, Dean," he complained, shaking it off.

"Serves you right, bi….brat," grinned Dean, only just remembering in time not to curse in front of the eight-year-old.

Half an hour later, Dean's wet bed sheets had been successfully replaced with dry ones and both Winchesters were back in bed.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~**

The following morning, after breakfast, Dean and Bobby took Sam to the tree-house clearing, as Dean had promised that they could go once the older hunter had returned. Sam was really excited and skipped down the path, whistling. He was clutching a large toy battery-operated boat in his hand, which he had bought from the toyshop in the mall.

"Don't get too far ahead, Sammy," called Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Aww, c'mon, Dean."

"I mean it, Sammy. Do as you're told or we'll go back."

Sam pouted, but complied.

Dean and Bobby were being extra vigilant where the youngest Winchester was concerned as a result of the demon's failed kidnapping attempt. Both hunters were carrying more weapons than usual, not prepared to take any risks.

It was a lovely, hot sunny day, so Dean and Bobby sat down beside the stream, watching Sam in amusement as the boy paddled and played with his boat.

Sam was pretending that the boat was engaged in a battle and kept firing cannonballs (pebbles) at the imaginary enemy. He had a number of sailors (twigs) lined up on the plastic deck. Suddenly he flicked one with his finger.

"Man, overboard!" The boy picked up one of the other sailors (twig) and made it jump into the water to save the person (twig) who had fallen in during the 'battle'.

Dean shook his head, a fond expression on his face. He'd not realised the first time, when Sam really had been eight, just how creative an imagination the child had. That was probably because he had just been a kid himself at the time and had been playing right alongside him.

A short while later, Sam grew tired of playing with his boat and took it out of the water, setting it gently down on the bank. He glanced over to his brother with a mischievous grin.

The next moment, Dean found himself flat on his back with Sam straddling him and attempting to pin him down, using the moves that Dean had been teaching him during their daily fun 'self-defence' sessions.

"Gotcha!" grinned Sam as he pinned his brother's wrists above his head.

Dean could easily have broken Sam's hold, but he wanted to give his little brother a confidence boost as the boy sometimes got frustrated when he couldn't do whatever Dean demonstrated straight away.

"You sure have, kiddo," grinned Dean, giving a half-hearted wriggle so that Sam would think he was trying to get away.

"Very good, Sam," praised Bobby gruffly, watching the Winchesters in amusement, "that's a very good technique you've got there."

Sam beamed and climbed off his brother, letting go of his wrists.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural~**

That evening just after 10 o clock, Dean and Bobby were in the sitting room. Bobby was pouring over an ancient tome, while Dean was engrossed in a sitcom on the TV. Dean had checked on Sam fifteen minutes previously and the boy had been sleeping peacefully.

Both hunters jumped to their feet when they heard a car engine approaching up the driveway – visitors this late usually signalled trouble or someone needing help. Dean moved to the edge of the window and pushed aside the corner of the curtain, careful to keep himself out of any possible line of fire.

Dean recognised the non-descript blue vehicle immediately. He could just make out two figures sitting in the front seats – Philip and his elderly companion, he guessed.

"Does it look like trouble, Boy?" growled the older hunter, reaching for the shotgun behind the sofa.

"Dunno, it's Philip Anderson, Bobby. The warlock!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note:**** Hi guys! I'm really sorry that it has taken me so long to update yet again – real life just didn't give me a break at all and then to top it off, I got writer's block. Sigh! Thanks once again for all the alerts and reviews. A special thank you to Sammysir for their continued encouragement! I promise once again that this story WILL be completed and will not get abandoned. I also apologise, because I noticed that I have made a continuity error: in chapter 6, I said that the ninth tier demons were the most powerful, but in chapter 12 I said that Azazel was a first tier demon, when I meant that he was a ninth tier demon i.e. the most powerful sort. **

"The warlock?" questioned Bobby, running an anxious hand over his beard.

For a moment, the two hunters stood immobile, unsure what course of action to take. They didn't want to antagonise their only possible source of help for Sam, but a warlock undoubtedly posed a threat and according to all of the lore that Bobby had studied on warlocks, that threat usually proved fatal!

Through the window, Dean watched as the two figures exited the vehicle and made their way towards the porch. An eye for detail was a mandatory trait in a hunter and Dean noticed immediately that the warlock matched his pace to the slow shuffle of his elderly companion.

"Well?" questioned Bobby, deciding that antagonising a warlock would not be a good idea and reluctantly leaving his shotgun where it was. _It wasn't like any type of firearm would be of any use anyway._ But Bobby felt naked without some sort of protection. The veteran hunter secretly hoped that the extensive array of wards, symbols and charms that shielded his property would keep the warlock from entering.

"Yeah," responded Dean, "It's definitely him." Now that the moment of truth had arrived, Dean felt totally freaked. _Had he passed the test? Would they be willing to help Sam? _

Bobby took a deep breath to steady his nerves. _Never had he imagined he would actually meet a warlock!_

Dean opened the front door before they could knock, not wanting to risk the sound waking his slumbering little brother.

"Good evening, Philip, it's great to see you again," he greeted, extending his hand. Dean's confident, cocky tone belied his inner turmoil.

Philip Anderson took the proffered hand in his own and shook it, a warm smile lighting up his face. "Good evening to you too Dean and it's nice to meet you Mr Singer."

"Please call me, Bobby," mumbled the older hunter, disconcerted that the warlock knew who he was, although he supposed it wasn't difficult to deduce given the large sign saying _'Singer Salvage'_ that they would have driven passed on entering the property.

"Please do come in." Dean stepped to the side and waved them inside.

Bobby felt an acute sense of disappointment when the warlock was able to enter over the threshold unhindered. Philip's next words caused him to jolt in shock. _Could warlocks read minds?_

"Your property is well-protected, Bobby. You must sleep better at night knowing that most supernatural threats are kept successfully at bay?"

"Errr….yes, well…." The flabbergasted hunter was at a loss for words.

Dean stepped in. "Can we offer you and your companion something to drink?" In reality, he was desperate to jump straight to curing Sam, but was unable to think of a suitable way to broach the subject.

Philip nodded. "That would be lovely, a coffee would be gratefully appreciated, thank you." The warlock nodded to his elderly companion. "I forgot that you hadn't been formally introduced. This is Reginald, he has served our family faithfully for many years."

With a faked, confident grin, Dean held out his hand. "Any friend of a warlock is a friend of mine," he smirked, hiding his insecurities behind a wise-ass attitude.

Reginald took the offered hand and shook it. "And any friend of my Master's is a friend of mine." An amused smile lit up the old man's wrinkled features.

Bobby rolled his eyes at the oldest Winchester's comment. He knew the boy well – Dean was _desperate_ to fix his little brother and he was hiding behind a façade of bravado. The older hunter, though wary of these visitors, knew that they were Sam's only hope.

Bobby showed his 'guests' into the sitting room while Dean retreated to the kitchen to make the required refreshments. Ten minutes later, they were ready and he carried them through on a tray. Dean had used the time in the kitchen to try and calm himself down by performing some breathing exercises that his father had taught him. _Sammy's whole future was riding on how this evening went!_

Dean watched through narrowed eyes as Philip took the proffered cup of coffee and took a sip. _Just what was the warlock's agenda? Could he cure Sam? And if he could, would he? And at what price?_

"Now let's get down to business shall we? What exactly is it that you want me to do for your brother?"

Dean couldn't stop his sharp intake of breath. _How did the warlock know?_ _At the bar he had introduced Sam as a friend!_

Philip picked up immediately on the young hunter's surprise and smiled reassuringly.

"You didn't think I'd just turn up without doing my homework did you? Surely, with your line of work, you understand never going into unknown situations unprepared? That would indeed show great folly. You must forgive me for being suspicious, but unfortunately we warlocks are most often the target of hostile intentions. So when I found out that a Dean Winchester wanted to make my acquaintance, I did some thorough research. Shall I tell you what I discovered?"

Dean nodded, curious.

"Well," Philip continued, "You were born to Mary and John Winchester - your mother before her marriage being Mary Campbell – on the 24th of January 1979. Your younger brother Samuel was born four years later on the 2nd of May 1983. On the night of November the 2nd of that year, your mother was murdered by a supernatural entity, which led to your father pursuing a career in hunting. You and your brother have been brought up as hunters and I have no doubt that you are good people as you never demand payment for your services. Your father passed away recently as a result of a collision with a truck, but the hospital records are unclear as it seemed that he had only been superficially injured in the crash. Do you need to hear more?"

Dean shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. The painful reminder of what happened to his father overwhelmed him for a moment – the guilt threatened to crush him. _He should be dead, not Dad!_

Bobby, seeing Dean struggle to regain control of his emotions, drew the warlock's attention with a question. "So how do you know we want you to do something for Sam?"

"Ah, well, we can sense other warlocks' magic. As soon as I walked into that bar, I could sense it. He has had a warlock's spell cast upon him. Of that, I have no doubt. It was therefore a logical conclusion that the reason you sought me out was to either remove or counteract the spell. Although I am curious as to how you knew of my existence in the first place?"

Bobby began to relate the tale of how Philip had helped Daniel Carter's grandfather, "We knew of you because…."

Dean took the opportunity to put his own emotions on lockdown once more. _He couldn't afford to think of his dad right now, this was Sammy's only hope!_

When he'd finished the story, Bobby looked at the warlock expectantly. "To be honest, we weren't even sure you would still be alive, because it happened such a long time ago. Don't take this the wrong way, Mr Anderson, but you're awfully young looking. I mean, we expected you to be ancient. I suppose warlock powers have their uses, eh?"

Philip smiled reassuringly. "Oh, I'm not using any sort of witchcraft to maintain my youth. You see, I am Philip Anderson _junior_. The hunter you referred to, met my _father_ who passed away a couple of years ago."

"Sorry to hear that," muttered Bobby gruffly, knowing it was the right thing to say under normal circumstances, but this was anything but normal!

"Thank you," smiled Philip, "my father was a good man. He taught me that with great power comes great responsibility. Now what exactly happened to your brother?"

Dean carefully explained what had happened in the warehouse with the exploding crystal and the result. When he'd finished, he looked at the warlock expectantly.

"You were incredibly lucky," stated Philip.

"Lucky?" questioned Dean, "My brilliant, Stanford-educated brother has been reduced to a little kid. Forgive me, but how the hell can that be considered 'lucky'?"

"Let's just say that particular Warlock was playing a prank. Warlock traps are usually fatal, so it is incredibly lucky that your brother is not dead. Using a de-aging spell instead, was a warlock having a little fun, playing a joke."

"Well, I for one, don't think it's funny!" growled Dean.

"No, I don't suppose you would," mused Philip, "but maybe we should count our blessings that he is still alive?"

"I'll count my blessings when Sam's back to normal. So can you reverse the spell? Can you fix him?"

"I don't suppose you know what kind of spell was used do you?" asked Philip, "That would make this quicker, though I can still analyse the spell without any prior knowledge, it'll just take longer."

"Actually we do," replied Bobby gruffly, "It's empowered by a combination of warlock and demonic power and a spoken incantation was used."

Philip nodded, looking thoughtful. "Okay," he said.

"So you're willing to help Sam then?" questioned Dean, "What do you want in return?"

"Yes, I'll try to help Sam, but as for what I want in return….nothing, Dean."

At Dean's sceptical raised eyebrow, Philip chuckled sadly. "I see that the stereotypical view of warlocks has preceded me."

"Begging your pardon, we honestly have no intention to offend, but I'm sure you know that all of the information available on warlocks aint exactly complimentary," explained Bobby gruffly.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not offended, I'm just saddened that it is so. Unfortunately, it is only those that use their power for evil that tend to get noticed and alas, the majority of our number do indeed use their power for selfish, less than honourable purposes. Nothing in this world corrupts like power does."

"So how many _good_ warlocks are there out there?" asked Bobby.

"Not enough, I'm afraid."

Just as Dean had, Bobby found himself instinctively liking this man. The fact that the warlock had absolutely nothing to gain by being here, prompted Bobby to trust his gut instinct - _they had nothing at all that was of value to a warlock, they could do nothing for Philip that he could not do for himself and they had explained how they had heard of him, so if it was just a case of satisfying his curiosity, surely he would have left then instead of sticking around if he wasn't genuine?_

"I don't suppose you're willing to explain how you harness demonic power are you?" muttered Bobby.

Philip smiled. "Sorry, but no. Not because I do not want to answer your question, but because I do not know _how_ I do it, I just simply _can_. Now, shall we see what I can do for Sam?"

"What will you need to do?" Dean slipped immediately into protective, big brother mode.

"Do not worry, Dean. I need merely to touch him."

"For how long?" Dean remembered Sam being hypnotised while Barbara Shackleton had analysed the spell.

"Just a second or two. Why?"

"He's asleep and I'd prefer not to wake him if at all possible." _Sammy's questions would be unending if he awoke to find a strange man in his bedroom._

Dean led Philip upstairs to the room he shared with his brother. He pushed open the bedroom door quietly. Sam looked so young and vulnerable – his tousled chocolate bangs falling over his forehead and one palm resting under his sleep-flushed cheek. Philip moved quickly, but quietly over to the side of the bed and Dean automatically tensed – reluctant to let any possible threat near his brother, even though all his hunting instincts told him that this warlock could be trusted and this was Sam's only hope of a cure.

Philip, sensing Dean's tension, turned and smiled. "I promise I won't hurt him. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I always keep my promises."

Dean nodded and unconsciously held his breath as the Warlock reached out. Philip gently pressed the palm of his hand to Sam's cheek. The boy murmured and shifted slightly in the bed, but didn't awaken.

After a moment, Philip removed his hand and turned back to Dean. "Let us talk downstairs," he said quietly.

Once back in the living room, Dean anxiously searched Philip's face. One look at his resigned expression, told Dean everything he needed to know.

He shook his head in denial. "No." the word was almost inaudible.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I wish I had good news."

Dean just shook his head again, unwilling and unable to accept what he was hearing.

Bobby, recognising that Dean was close to losing it, stepped in. "You mean you can't heal him? Why?"

"No, I can heal him."

"You can?" Dean raised his head, the childlike hopeful tone in Dean's voice tugged at Bobby's heartstrings.

"I sense a 'but' coming," grunted the older hunter, resting a supporting hand on his surrogate son's shoulder.

Philip nodded. "I _can_ cure him, but unfortunately there is a risk….it could kill him."

"How much of a risk?" Bobby asked, running an agitated hand over his beard.

Dean looked at him in utter disbelief – _why would Bobby even ask that? Any risk at all, no matter how slight, was too much if his baby brother's life was at stake!_

"It's a very high risk, I'm afraid. It's fifty fifty."

"You mean there's a fifty per cent chance if you heal him that he won't make it?" the older hunter clarified, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulder as he realised that the younger hunter had begun to physically tremble.

Philip nodded. "I'm afraid so. I can perform the counter spell if you wish, but from everything I learned about the Winchester brothers through my research, I suspect that they would never risk each other for anything."

"What about demons?" Bobby was clutching at straws now and had remembered what Barbara Shackleton had said about curing Sam. "Can a higher level demon fix him?"

"Yes," agreed Philip, "but only with exactly the same risk factor as if a warlock did it. I'm sorry, but Sam cannot be cured without risking killing him." He turned to Dean. "I am taking it that you do not want me to attempt it?"

Dean shook his head. "No, no way. I'm not risking harming Sammy!" he managed to grit out between his clenched teeth. To Dean, it felt that his world was slowly crumbling around him. Until that moment, Dean hadn't realised that he had been secretly harbouring the hope that somehow Sam _would_ be fixed and now that fragile hope had been completely crushed.

"I am sorry that I could not help." Philip stood up to leave and extended his hand. Dean shook it on autopilot.

The warlock then shook hands with Bobby. "It was nice meeting you both. Maybe we will have dealings with each other in the future."

"That would be nice," replied Bobby, following as Philip and his elderly companion, Reginald, made their way to the doorway.

Philip glanced back with a troubled expression to where Dean was standing frozen in the living room, before turning back to Bobby. "I am genuinely sorry that I could not help. Look after both of them, they are a real asset to this world."

"Don't worry, I will do. I love those boys as if they were my own!"

"I can tell," Philip smiled.

With a final wave, the pair slowly descended the porch steps and made their way to their car. Bobby watched them until they had driven down the driveway and were out of sight.

He quickly re-entered the house. Bobby was incredibly worried about how Dean was taking the news that Sam could never be cured. He had seen the despair settling over the young hunter's face. He himself would privately mourn the permanent loss of the bright, young twenty-three-year-old when he was assured that Dean was holding it all together and coping. The elder brother, the twenty-seven-year-old, was his priority right now.

"Dean, you okay, son?" Bobby approached Dean warily, almost as if he was a frightened colt apt at bolt at any time.

Dean glanced up at Bobby's voice and mutely shook his head, not in response to Bobby's question, but at the raging torrent of emotions within. The inner dams that successfully kept Dean's emotions at bay, were beginning to disintegrate as the understanding that Sam's condition was irreversible sank in.

"Dean, it's gonna be okay," reassured Bobby, taking a step closer, intending to envelope the younger hunter in a hug. He halted as Dean backed away from him, still shaking his head, although the younger hunter now had his fists clenched as he battled against the raging torrent within.

Unbidden, memories of promises that he had made his little brother over the years suddenly overwhelmed him:

_Five-year-old Sam sat a few feet away from the edge of the swimming pool forlornly watching his daddy and brother having fun in the water. The kiddie pool was closed for repairs and so only the extremely deep adult pool was open. Children however, were allowed in as long as they were accompanied by an adult._

_Sam couldn't swim and was scared of deep water. His daddy had assured him that he would be safe and couldn't sink, because the inflated bands around his upper arms would keep him afloat, but Sam had been unconvinced and had refused to put that to the test. When John had attempted to pick the tiny child up and put him in the water, Sam had started crying and squirming frantically, trying to escape his dad's hold. Not wanting to upset his youngest, John released him – there was no way he would force his baby if he was frightened and the fear was written all over Sammy's little face. The five-year-old had immediately scrambled a safe distance away from the edge. John had tried for over ten minutes to coax him into the pool, gently reassuring him, but the little one would not be swayed._

_Dean had watched the exchange between his dad and his baby brother, hoping that Sammy would be persuaded to try it. Dean had then hoped that if the child saw how much fun he was having with his dad and what he was missing out on, Sam would reconsider and want to join them. That ploy hadn't worked either. The five-year-old had now sat at the side of the pool for a whole twenty minutes._

_Dean himself had learned to swim unaided by floats the previous year when he was eight, but he had never shown any fear of water. Sam was fine in shallow water where the child knew he could stand up. Dean knew his little brother must be miserable, being left out of the fun and swam over to the side._

"_You okay, Sammy?"_

_Sam didn't respond verbally, the quivering lower lip said it all._

_Dean lithely pulled himself out of the water and sat down next to the little boy. The child unconsciously shifted closer and leaned against his big brother._

"_I think you should come in the pool with me," stated Dean confidently. He was determined to coax his little brother in, but if he couldn't and failed, the nine-year-old had already decided that he would forgo the pleasures of swimming and keep Sammy company instead._

_Sam shook his head. "Nuh-uh, I don't like swimmin', Dee."_

_Dean ignored Sam's false assertion – the kid had had a ball the previous week in the kiddie pool which only came up to his chest._

"_Are you sure, Sammy? It's great fun in there! You can play with me and Dad."_

_Sam again shook his head, making his chocolate bangs dance on his forehead. "Nuh-uh, I don't wanna swim. I want you to stay here and play with me."_

"_I'll play with you in the water, Sammy."_

_Sam pouted. "No, here. Please, Dee?"_

_Dean reached over and tugged the five-year-old into his lap. The child automatically relaxed, leaning back against Dean's chest._

"_Can I ask you something, Sammy?"_

"_Yeah, what?" Sam looked up at him expectantly._

"_Do I look after you?"_

_Sam nodded without hesitation. "Yeah."_

"_And would I let something harm you?"_

_This time, Sam shook his head. "Nuh-uh, never."_

"_So if I take you in the pool with me, you understand that I'll look after you and not let you get hurt?"_

_Sam froze. The little boy had fallen right into Dean's trap._

"_Nuh-uh, I'm not swimmin'!"_

"_So you don't trust me then?" questioned Dean, feigning hurt._

"_No, Dee, I do trust you, I do!" The five-year-old didn't like it when his brother looked sad._

"_If you really trusted me, then you'd come in the pool with me," pointed out Dean reasonably._

"_But…." The small child cast frightened eyes at the pool before glancing back to his big brother._

"_No _buts, _Sammy. You're my little brother and it's my job to look after you. Just trust me, okay?"_

_Sam solemnly contemplated Dean's face for a moment. "'Kay," he murmured, allowing his big brother to lead him by the hand towards the steps into the pool._

_**Dean squeezed Sam's hand reassuringly. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise."**_

Another memory assaulted him:

_Six-year-old Sam was swinging happily from the monkey bars._

"_Look at me, Dee! I can do it!" he squealed with excitement._

"_I see you, Sammy," replied Dean with a grin from the swings, "That's great, Tiger! You'll be as strong as Dad soon."_

_The little boy beamed at his big brother's praise, before descending the ladder and scampering over to the large climbing frame._

_Dean himself remained on the swings – he could still see Sammy at all times from his present vantage point. Dean was standing on the swing, bending his knees and arching his back, trying to get as high as humanly possible. The ten-year-old wondered if it was actually possible to get the swing to go higher than the bar it hung from. He was going to try!_

_The only reason that they were allowed to the park without adult-supervision was that their current dilapidated apartment building was right next door and John was confident that he would hear his sons calling him if any trouble arose. Despite this, the hunter had already checked on his children twice in the last half hour. Dean had rolled his eyes in exasperation at spotting his Dad surreptitiously peeking through the railings – he was 10-years-old for goodness sake, perfectly capable of looking after himself and Sammy!_

_Dean glanced at the apartment building, wondering how long it would be before Dad returned to check on them once more. A moment later, Dean heard Sammy's scream and turned his head just in time to see the 6-year-old hit the ground, having fallen from the very top of the climbing frame._

_Dean didn't think, he just reacted, having no regard for his own safety and leaped off the swing, despite the fact that it was at its peak. Even though he remembered his father's training and bent his knees to absorb the shock of impact, he still stumbled upon landing and felt the painful jarring in his knees._

_Dean ignored the flaring pain and sprinted to his little brother's side. Sam was curled up, clutching his badly grazed knees and sobbing._

"_Sammy, where does it hurt?" Dean skidded to a halt and crouched down, anxiously searching for any serious-looking injuries._

_Sam sat up and immediately flung himself into Dean's arms. The ten-year-old reacted instinctively catching the small boy and wrapping his arms tightly around the child._

"_It's okay, Sammy, I've gotcha," he soothed, "You hurt anywhere except your knees?"_

_Sam shook his head, his tears flowing freely down his chubby, baby cheeks. "Nuh –uh, but my knees huuuuurt, Dee," he sniffled, "an' they're _bleedin_!"_

_Dean stood up, hoisting his little brother with him. Sam immediately wrapped his legs around Dean's waist, clinging like a limpet and buried his tear-streaked face into his big brother's shoulder._

_Luckily, Sam was incredibly small for his age and Dean had no trouble at all carrying him. As he moved quickly towards the gate, he saw their father hurrying towards them. John had no doubt been alerted by Sammy's scream._

"_**It's okay, Sammy," murmured Dean, "Big Brother's gonna make you all better, I promise."**_

Another memory forced itself unbidden into his mind:

_Dean pressed the accelerator to the floor, ignoring the possible damage he could be doing to the Impala, his baby, as they careened down the rough, dirt track away from the forest. The car was Dean's pride and joy, but it meant nothing at all to him compared to his family, his world._

_Behind them, in the forest, there was a burning carcass of an elbracken. Yeah, sure, they had got the fugly in the end, but not before it had gotten John when he had jumped in front of Dean. Dean had already been thrown by the creature and had lost his weapon during his unplanned flight. When John had seen it advancing on his now unarmed son, he hadn't hesitated, more than willing to sacrifice himself to save his eldest. However, instead of throwing the experienced hunter as it had Dean, the elbracken had instead swung its lethal barbed tail, effectively skewering John's side. Dean had quickly retrieved his machete and beheaded the monster (which unfortunately was the only way to kill it and had meant that they had been forced to get close to the creature), while Sam (who had been given strict instructions to stay back) immediately ran to his fallen father's side._

_Dean glanced back over his shoulder to the backseat._

"_How's he doing, Sammy?"_

"_Not so good, Dean. I can't stop the bleeding." The quiver was clearly audible in the sixteen-year-old's voice."_

"_It's okay, Sammy," soothed Dean, forcing his own voice to sound calm, keeping his own fear on complete lockdown – _Dad and Sammy needed him to be strong_ – "Just keep the pressure on."_

_Sam nodded and glanced down at his father as he lay across Sam's knees. John was unconscious, pale and clammy. The teenager knew that the hunter was going into clinical shock. There was so much blood that he was convinced that his dad was going to die. An almost inaudible sob escaped him._

_Dean had turned his attention back to the road, but he nevertheless caught the slight sound, attuned as he always was to his little brother. He glanced back over his shoulder once more. Sam had his head bowed._

"_Sammy look at me," Dean instructed. He was rewarded when his brother raised his head and tear-filled hazel eyes met his own._

"_Is he gonna die, Dean?"_

"_NO!" his denial came out sharper than he intended. Dean refused to even contemplate the possibility for even a split second – John Winchester dying was not an option, Dean may be twenty years old, but he __**needed **__his dad! _

_**Dean continued, his tone softer, "Dad's not gonna die, Sammy. You'll see. Everything's gonna be all right, I promise."**_

Dean's failures hit him like a sledgehammer. Sam had been entrusted to him when he was 6 months old and he had failed in all the promises he had made to the kid – he _had_ let something bad happen to him, he _couldn't_ make Sam better and things were most definitely _not_ going to be all right! Dean couldn't stand the overwhelming emotions anymore. He had to get out of there! He pushed passed Bobby, fishing the keys to the Impala out of his pocket as he did so.

"Dean! Wait, son!" Bobby made to grab the fleeing man, but missed.

Dean ignored him and flung open the front door, before racing down the porch steps and flinging himself into his beloved car. Bobby reached the door just in time to see the Impala speeding down the drive and careening around the corner and out of sight with a screech of protesting tyres.

"Dammit," muttered Bobby, running an agitated hand over his beard.

He moved to the living room and sat down with a sigh. He'd give Dean some space and hopefully once the initial panic was over, Dean would come to his senses and return.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Two hours later, Dean had still not returned and a worried Bobby picked up the phone. He'd expected the eldest Winchester just to drive around for a while in order to get himself under control and his game face back on, but now he was growing more concerned. Remembering the speed at which the young hunter had been driving, he couldn't prevent unwelcome images of the Impala wrapped around a tree from entering his mind.

After dialling Dean's cell number, he heard it ring once, twice, three times and then it cut off. _Surely Dean hadn't hung up on him?_ Bobby rang the number once more. This time it rang only once before cutting off.

"Pick up. Dammit Dean!" he muttered, agitated, and dialled the number for a third time. This time, it went straight to voicemail. _The blasted kid hadn't just ignored his calls he'd gone so far as to turn his cell off!_

Bobby had no idea where on earth Dean would have gone and anyway, he couldn't leave an eight-year-old alone at home while he went looking for him. With a heavy heart, the veteran hunter made his way upstairs to bed. There was no point in him staying up – if Dean hadn't returned by morning, he'd have to be awake and alert enough to look after Sam.

Bobby paused at the boys' bedroom door. Sam had lost half of his bedcovers which were dangling on the floor. The boy was cured up on his side, Digger snuggled safely under one arm, fast asleep. The older hunter moved quietly into the room and replaced the covers.

"Oh, Sam…." he murmured, almost inaudibly, feeling the sadness wash over him at the loss of the brilliant young man that Sam had become and who was now lost forever.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean dropped his cell phone back into his jacket pocket after switching it off. He didn't want to talk to Bobby. He just wanted to forget the friggin mess that was his life! And the whiskey was helping. He downed the shot in the glass in front of him with a grimace and asked the bartender for another. Dean had lost count of how many shots he had had.

He turned on his stool and surveyed the bar. Dean knew he was drunk. The room felt like it was spinning slightly, but his feelings were pleasantly numbed. He hadn't forgotten what had transpired earlier, but the excess of alcohol had effectively blocked the feelings of failure and despair.

A curvy brunette approached with a coy smile. "You look all lonely over here, handsome. Want some company?"

"I always appreciate the company of beautiful ladies. What're you drinkin'?" Dean glanced over the woman appreciatively. She was well-endowed and her top was cut so low that it showed off so much of her cleavage that it could almost be considered indecent.

"Wine, baby."

Dean caught the bartender's attention and asked for a glass of wine and a beer. He figured that a beer was more sociable than a shot of whiskey and he had some flirting to do.

He handed over the glass of wine, intentionally ensuring that their fingers touched as he did so. "I'm Dean by the way. What lovely name are you graced with?"

"Melanie, but you can call me Mel. So what's a stud like you doing here on their own then?"

Half an hour later, Dean and Mel had relocated to a table and Melanie was practically sitting in his lap. It had been a long time since Dean had gotten laid, with what had happened with Sam. _Too long_. Dean intended to rectify that. And he knew from her body language that Mel was more than willing.

Melanie slid her hand up Dean's thigh under the table, while tilting her head up and capturing his lips in a kiss. She wasn't interested in a relationship, just a bit of fun and she knew she was safe from any misconceptions about commitment here, because Dean had explained that he was a travelling salesman and never stayed in one place for more than a couple of days.

"What do you say we blow this joint and go somewhere more private?" Dean murmured against her lips.

"Sure, there's a motel two blocks down."

As Dean stood to follow Mel from the bar, he swayed on his feet, before finding enough balance to walk, although he was certainly incapable of traversing a straight line. _Oh, yeah, he was definitely drunk!_

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Sleep lifted slowly from Sam. The boy yawned and fisted his eyes, before slowly blinking them open, taking in immediately Dean's immaculately made bed. Sam frowned. Dean being awake and up before him was the norm, but his big brother never made his bed when he first got up, he always left it a rumpled mess. After his usual morning trip to the bathroom to relieve himself, Sam made his way slowly downstairs.

"Hiyuh, Uncle Bobby," greeted Sam, looking around for his brother and coming up empty. He ran his hand through his sleep-mussed hair and yawned.

"Mornin' Sam," greeted the older hunter, looking up from where he was seated at the table reading a newspaper, "would you like some scrambled eggs for breakfast?"

"Yes please," replied Sam politely, before voicing the question that was bothering him, "Where's Dean?"

Bobby had already come up with a cover story for the eldest Winchester's absence. He was just praying that Dean quickly came to his senses before Sam became suspicious. He had tried ringing again this morning, but had been put straight through to voicemail, indicating that the cell was still turned off.

"I sent him on an errand run. He's delivering some things for me. Not sure when he'll be back, it could take all day."

Sam's face fell. "Oh. He should have woken me. I could've gone with him."

"It would have involved a lot of waiting around and you'd have been bored, Sam."

"No I wouldn't," refuted Sam with a shake of his head.

Bobby didn't reply to that, recognising that at age eight, Sam had rarely been separated from Dean and definitely never for extended periods of time (only during school or when John was home and Dean spent some time with his friends) – it hadn't been until he was around twelve that John had considered Sam old enough to leave on his own while he took Dean on simple hunts with him.

"When you've finished your breakfast, you can go and play, Sam. Dean'll be back before you know it." _I hope_.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean awoke to the feeling of a finger tracing down his bare chest. At the exact moment that he blinked his eyes open sleepily, a relentless jackhammer started up in his head.

"Morning handsome," crooned the buxom brunette, propping herself up on one elbow and looking down at him.

"Morning…" Dean trailed off. _What was her name again? Mandy? Martha? Melissa? Margaret? He was pretty sure it began with an 'M' anyway._

Melanie didn't seem to notice his hesitation and instead leaned over him, before covering his mouth with hers for a deep, lingering kiss.

"I've gotta go, Dean. Thanks for a great night. I'll leave you my number in case you're free again before you leave town."

"Sure thing, babe." Dean squinted up at her, convinced his head was going to explode. _Just how much had he had to drink last night anyway? _He definitely had the hangover from hell.

As soon as Melanie had dressed and let herself quietly out of the motel room, Dean buried his face back into his pillow with a groan. The excruciating pain in his head and the ache in his limbs from his overindulgence of whiskey was a welcome distraction from having to think. It wasn't long before Dean succumbed to sleep once more.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

It was nearing lunchtime and Bobby still hadn't heard from Dean. He was worried. Quickly checking out of the window to ensure that Sam was still riding his bike up and down the driveway and wouldn't hear what he was about to say, Bobby dialled Dean's cell phone once more. He had done so on and off throughout the morning without success – it was still turned off. Previously, he had left no messages. This time he intended to. Bobby knew that what he was about to say was harsh, and he hated himself for it, but he needed Dean to snap out of it and to do so, he was going to replace the burden on Dean's shoulders that John had initially placed there when Dean was only four years old.

As soon as the cell went to voicemail, Bobby spoke, before he could lose his nerve:

"Dean, dammit. You _need_ to come home. I know you're upset, but we'll figure things out together. I've got your back. Sam _needs_ you! He's _your_ responsibility. It's _your_ job to look after him. So get your backside in gear and get back here!"

After ending the call, Bobby ran his hand agitatedly over his face, feeling guilty. He wished there had been some other way, but Bobby knew Dean well and the eldest Winchester wouldn't respond to mollycoddling or heart-to-hearts, but Dean _would_ always respond to his baby brother's needs.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

When Dean next awoke, his headache had subsided to a more manageable level. With the thick motel curtains filtering the light, he had no idea what time of the day it was and glanced at his wristwatch. It was nearing 2pm in the afternoon. Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position with a groan and glanced around for his clothes which were scattered all over the room.

Once Dean was dressed, he sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, at a loss of what to do. He couldn't deal with his emotions and failings regarding Sam at the moment – Dean forcibly pushed them away. _Maybe he'd get something to eat and then hit another bar? Yeah, that seemed like a good idea._

He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. He should at least text Bobby to tell him that he was still alive. His surrogate father would worry. Once Dean had turned the phone on, he was immediately alerted to the fact that he had one new voicemail. On autopilot, Dean pressed the button and held the phone to his ear. The message was from Bobby:

"Dean, dammit. You _need_ to come home. I know you're upset, but we'll figure things out together. I've got your back. Sam _needs_ you! He's _your_ responsibility. It's _your_ job to look after him. So get your backside in gear and get back here!"

Bobby's words cut Dean to the very core. _What the hell had he done? He'd abandoned Sam! Of course Sammy needed him, even if he was a failing, poor excuse for an older brother._

Dean didn't even realise he was crying at first, but when he did, he made no attempt to stop, merely buried his face in his hands and let the sobs overwhelm him. Stanford-educated Sam was gone forever. His adult hunting partner was gone forever. His witty, compassionate, caring _adult_ little brother was gone forever. Dean mourned the loss, allowing the tears to traverse unhindered down his cheeks.

How long Dean cried for, he wasn't sure, but at last, the tears halted and he drew the back of his hand across his eyes. A new determination filled him. _He had to get home to Sam!_

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Sam jerked his head up as soon as he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala coming up the drive. The boy had been sprawled on the porch for the last half hour drawing and chatting to Bobby who was sitting in an old rocking chair nearby. Sam scrambled to his feet as the sleek, black car pulled up outside.

Dean slowly opened the car door and climbed out, unsure of what to say to explain his absence. His heart swelled as he watched Sam leaping down the stairs and sprinting towards him. _Adult Sam may be gone, but child Sammy was still here._

Dean braced himself, realising at the last second what his kid brother was about to do – Sam had always run to him and hugged him whenever he'd been away for a while up until the age of about fourteen when he had decided that it was babyish to be openly affectionate.

Even with bracing himself, Dean still staggered backwards a few feet as his brother's tall frame barrelled into him.

Sam flung his arms around Dean. "You're back! Next time, I wanna come with you."

"Come with me?" murmured Dean, tightening his own arms around his brother_. It felt so good to have Sammy safe in his arms!_

Dean heard Bobby clear his throat – the older hunter had approached at a slower pace than the youngest Winchester – and looked over at him.

"Yeah, Sam was put out that you completed all my _errands _today without him."

"Oh, yeah, your errands. I got 'em all done." Dean was eternally grateful to Bobby for getting him off the hook by providing an excuse. _Not that he deserved it_.

Sam let go of Dean a moment later and stepped back. "So you'll take me next time, yeah?" He paused a moment, studying his older brother's expression. "You okay, Dean? You look kinda pale."

Dean cursed the fact that the kid was so observant and perceptive. "I'm fine, Sammy. Just got a bit of a headache is all. I'm gonna take a couple of Tylenol and it'll be fine." _It was the truth, he _did_ have a headache, he just neglected to say it was self-inflicted from imbibing too much alcohol._

Dean reached out and ruffled Sam's hair.

Pedictably, Sam ducked away from his hand. "Deeeeeeean," he whined, before scampering back to the porch to continue drawing.

After waiting until the boy was out of earshot, Dean turned to Bobby.

"I'm so so sorry, Bobby, I just…."

Bobby raised his hand, cutting him off. "I don't want no apologies, yah idjit. You had a shock. It's to be expected. I just wanna know if you're okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just…..thanks, hey, for giving me the kick up the backside I needed."

Bobby studied Dean closely for a minute, trying to evaluate how truthful the twenty-seven –year-old was being and if he was truly coping with the situation. Relieved by what he saw, Bobby placed a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder.

"No need to thank me, that's what family's for."

Dean felt a lump rise in his throat and didn't trust himself to speak. _He knew how lucky he was to have Bobby in his life._ He took a couple of deep breaths to get a handle on his emotions once more.

"Hey, Dean, come and see my picture," called Sam, waving his paper in the air.

"Sure thing, kiddo." Dean was glad of the distraction and moved quickly towards his brother.

Sam held out his picture for his brother to see. "What do you think? Is it good?"

"Ummm….." Dean looked down at the drawing. _What the heck was it?_ In the sky were some passable clouds and a bright yellow sun complete with a smiley face on it, but in the foreground was a large black rectangle. _Was it a house? Then where were the windows and door? _"It's great, Sammy!"

Witnessing Dean's pause, Sam's face fell. "Do you even know what it is?" he asked suspiciously.

Seeing his little brother's disappointed look, Dean wracked his brains for inspiration. _What could a black rectangle represent?_ An idea struck him and he took a chance, hoping against hope that he was right.

"Of course I know what it is, squirt. It's the Impala, my baby."

Sam's face lit up. "You really do know. Do you like it?"

Dean smiled at his younger brother's delighted expression. "I love it. It's honestly fantastic, Sammy."

Sam took the picture back and picked up a purple pencil crayon. He scrawled a message along the bottom: TO DEAN LOVE FROM SAMMY XXX. He then held it up to Dean with a shy smile.

"Here, you can have it."

"Why, thank you, Sammy." Dean took the picture and folded it carefully before placing it inside his wallet.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

That evening, Dean stood in the doorway to their bedroom just watching Sam sleep. He felt overwhelmed with love for his younger brother, his reason for being. He'd been so caught up with the fact that he'd lost the man that his brother had become, that he hadn't realised how lucky he was to still have eight-year-old Sam. According to Philip, he was extremely lucky that the kid hadn't been killed. Dean couldn't even bring himself to consider that possibility. _He couldn't have lived without his brother, he just couldn't!_ For the first time, Dean was truly able to see the silver lining – it could have indeed been much worse. Sure, Sam would need to grow up again, but this time, Dean was determined to do it differently. He would do everything in his power to make Sam happy and keep him safe.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

The following morning passed peacefully. Dean worked in Bobby's autoshop on some cars, salvaging any usable parts, while Bobby researched some ancient symbols sent to him by a hunter friend. Sam had made a den inside one of the rusted, wrecked cars and spent part of the morning in there and the other half in front of the TV watching cartoons.

Just before lunchtime, Dean entered the kitchen to wash his grease-covered hands. Bobby looked up as the younger hunter entered, but continued to stir the contents of the saucepan before him. He had watched Dean carefully yesterday afternoon and evening, to ensure that he wasn't about to freak out and take off again, but the eldest Winchester had his game face firmly back in place.

"Did you find owt we can use or are they just suitable for scrap metal?"

Dean nodded and moved over to the table. "Yeah, some. Did you work out what those symbols meant?"

"Nah, but I'll work on it some more this afternoon before we go out to celebrate tonight."

"Celebrate what, Bobby?" queried Dean, his puzzled green eyes searching his surrogate father's face.

"Why, celebrating the beginning of Sam's second chance at childhood of course! Now we know that it's permanent, we can ensure he gets the chance to be a proper kid this time around." Bobby ambled away from the stove to drop a soothing hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah, we will," even though Dean's response was soft, the steely resolution in his voice did not go unmissed by the older hunter, "I'll give him the best childhood ever!"

"I know you will, Dean," Bobby squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, "And I'll help you."

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

"We're really going to a proper restaurant, not a diner, Dean?" Sam was practically bouncing in the back seat with excitement.

Dean grinned at his little brother's fidgeting, but couldn't help feeling a pang of regret at the fact that eating out at a restaurant had been such a rare event in his eight years of life that it engendered such a level of excitement.

"Yeah, kiddo, now fasten your seatbelt."

Sam obediently sat back and did as requested. "What kind of restaurant is it?"

Dean smirked. "An Italian restaurant."

Sam laughed – it was a young, care-free sound that warmed both the older hunters' hearts. "I bet that's so you can still eat pizza, Dean."

"You got it, Tiger. You can't beat a good pizza!"

"Aren't you gonna be adventurous and try some exotic pasta dishes instead? I think Uncle Bobby should ban you from having pizza and make you try something new."

Bobby chuckled at the eldest Winchester's horrified expression.

Dean gave a mock shudder. "Nuh-uh Sammy, I don't want no pasta unless it's mac and cheese!"

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Once at the restaurant, a pretty, blond waitress led them towards a table at the back.

"Good evening, sirs. My name is Casey and I will be your waitress for the evening."

Sam slid into the chair next to the wall. Dean however, paused, casting an admiring glance at Casey's slim, yet curvy figure. Bobby rolled his eyes, before nudging his surrogate son in the ribs.

"Admiring the scenery are we?" he mumbled just loud enough for Dean to hear.

Dean nodded in response, a roguish grin lighting up his face as he slid into the seat next to Sam. Bobby was overwhelmingly relieved that the young hunter was back to his usual flirty self after his mini-breakdown 48 hours ago. Bobby took the seat opposite Dean.

Casey handed each of them a menu, before taking out her notebook.

"Can I get you something to drink in the meantime?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, intending to ask for two beers. "Yes please, we'll have…."

Bobby cut him off, pointing to something on the expensive wine menu. "Can we have a bottle of red wine please and a large chocolate milk?"

"Of course, coming right up, gentlemen." Casey moved away to fetch their drinks.

"Wine?" queried Dean, "What's wrong with plain old beer?"

"Well, we're celebrating, Boy," huffed Bobby, "You can have beer every day. This is a special occasion!"

"What're we celebrating?" asked Sam innocently.

"Life," replied Bobby without hesitation, smiling warmly at the youngest Winchester, "I think everyone should sit back and count their blessings from time to time. I mean, we're all happy and healthy, so we have a lot to be thankful for."

"Sounds good to me," murmured Dean, sharing a meaningful look with the older hunter.

Instead of looking at the menu, Sam stared down at the table in awe. It was covered in a rich, plum-coloured tablecloth. In the middle of the table were two lit red candles in ornate, golden candelabra, placed on either side of a vase containing fresh flowers. There were four cream paper pace mats with golden borders, around which, shining silver cutlery was neatly arranged.

"Wow," he breathed, fingering the stem of the empty crystal champagne glass set before him. "Uh, Dean, why are there so many knives, forks and spoons?"

Dean looked down at his own extensive array of cutlery. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. You just start on the outside and work your way in….or is it start on the inside and work your way outwards? Oh, who cares anyway, as long as you've got something to eat with, huh?" Dean grinned. _He really couldn't give a damn about correct etiquette as long as the food was good!_

"This place is amazing!"

Sam had now turned in his seat and was looking around at the magnificent décor. Beautiful landscape paintings adorned the rich, cream-coloured walls, while soft, muted light from the numerous crystal chandeliers infused the whole restaurant with an atmosphere of calmness. Soothing, romantic music was also playing in the background. It was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the gaudy, harshly lit diners, filled with rowdy customers that he was used to eating at.

Dean himself was never really comfortable when eating at places like this, but he wouldn't have missed the awed and delighted expression on his little brother's face for anything.

"Impressive, huh?" Dean grinned.

Sam nodded.

"So what do you wanna eat, kiddo?" he continued.

"O yeah…." Sam suddenly remembered the menu that he was holding in his hand, "don't worry, Dean, I'll find something cheap."

"What?" scolded Bobby, "You'll do no such thing, Sam Winchester. You choose whatever you want. The cost don't matter. We're celebrating remember!"

"Oh, okay," Sam glanced back at his menu, his eyes widening when he saw the excessive prices. _Sure, with him having forgotten 15 years of his life, he expected the cost to have gone up some due to inflation, but not that much!_ "You really sure we can afford it, Uncle Bobby?"

"Yes, Sam, I'm sure," he replied gruffly, "so knock yourself out. Now what do you want?"

"Can I have spinach and ricotta cannelloni, please?" asked Sam after studying the extensive menu for a minute, pointing to the picture in the menu.

"That sounds disgusting," muttered Dean, pulling a face. "What's in it?"

Sam obligingly read the description from the menu, "One of our award-winning pasta dishes, this consists of mouth-watering cannelloni filled with spinach and ricotta served in a blend of rich tomato and creamy cheese sauces, baked in the oven to perfection….and I think you got the wrong describing _'d'_ word there Dean, I think you meant to say it sounds _delicious!"_

Dean snorted. "In your dreams, kid. A fully-loaded pizza, now that's real food!"

Bobby carefully spread out his napkin and lay it on his lap, determined to give the impression that he was used to eating in such luxurious places. Dean grinned at the movement and after a moment copied the veteran hunter and laid his own napkin over his knee. Sam however, proceeded to fold his into a paper airplane shape.

Casey approached the table carrying a tray containing a bottle of red wine and a large chocolate milkshake. She couldn't help being curious as to which one the chocolate milk was for. _Maybe one of them was driving and had chosen not to drink at all?_ Casey was glad she had struck lucky and was serving their table – it wasn't often that you got the opportunity to ogle such good-looking young men!

As she got closer to the table, she spotted two of the men engaged in conversation, while the third, the tallest of the group, was holding an 'airplane,' that he had obviously made from his napkin, between his thumb and forefinger and moving it through the air, complete with quiet engine noises. Casey strongly suspected that she had now solved the chocolate milk mystery. Her heart went out to the young man and she wondered if he had been born that way or if he had had an accident.

Not wanting to offend however, Casey still asked politely, "Who requested the chocolate milk?"

Dean nodded towards Sam, who smiled shyly at the waitress and took his drink. "Thank you."

"Would you like me to pour your wine, sirs?"

Bobby nodded and handed over his and Dean's glasses.

After pouring the two drinks, Casey turned to Sam. Even though she suspected she knew the answer, she still felt it was polite to ask. "Would you not like some, sir?"

Sam shook his head. "No thank you." Although Sam was really curious as to what wine would taste like – _it couldn't be as bad as the coffee or beer, right?_ – he knew that Dean would never let him try it.

When their meals arrived, Dean insisted on picking up his pizza to eat it with his fingers, ignoring the scandalised looks of the couple at the next table who were painstakingly cutting their pizzas up into little pieces and eating them with their knives and forks.

A short while later, Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin. "That was yummy. I'm really full up now."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Sammy. You still got room for dessert I hope. I'm gonna have pie," grinned Dean.

Sam's face lit up. "I can really have dessert too?"

It tugged at Dean's heartstrings once more that having dessert in a proper restaurant was considered such a treat. With their forced nomadic lifestyle due to their father's hunting, they'd had so little money growing up, that they'd never had any luxuries. Dean was determined to rectify that from here on in.

"Sure, kiddo, we'll just ask for the dessert menus."

Casey arrived a few minutes later to clear away their plates and handed them each a sweet menu.

"Hmmm," Dean mused, "So many pies to choose from, I'm in heaven. I'm gonna have the blackberry and apple pie I think. What do you want?"

"Can I have chocolate fudge cake and ice-cream topped with toffee sauce?"

"You can have whatever you want, kiddo."

"'Kay, Dean. I'll have that then."

Bobby chuckled. "Good luck getting him into bed when he's that full of sugar. He'll be bouncing off the walls. I'll have the almond tart."

Sam grinned mischievously. "If I'm full of sugar, does that mean I get to stay up later until I get rid of the excess energy?"

"Not on your life, Sammy. It'll probably be past your bedtime anyway by the time we get back and you'll be going straight to bed," smirked Dean.

Sam shrugged, still smiling. "Well, it was worth a try."

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

The following morning, Sam was bored. It was raining heavily, so he couldn't play outside. He'd talked to his fish for a while and then had played on the laptop while Dean had been watching some talkshow on TV. Dean had then gone out to the autoshop to continue working on the cars from yesterday and had put the laptop away, because Sam wasn't allowed to play on it unless an adult was present to supervise. Bobby had nipped into town to pick up some more supplies.

Sam wandered into the sitting room, thinking he'd maybe play with his knights and castle, but the photograph of him and Dean with Dad sitting on the Impala caught his eye. Sam chewed his lower lip as he approached the shelf and lifted the frame down. He seated himself on the sofa and ran his fingers over the photograph. _He really missed his Dad!_

Sam wasn't stupid. He knew that Dean was missing their dad too, even if he wouldn't admit it. Sam could tell by the way his brother's eyes narrowed and his expression tightened slightly every time Sam asked about the cockatrice hunt he was on and when he might be back. He knew their dad hadn't been in contact, because Dean would have told him. And if Dean didn't know, then Bobby wouldn't know either.

Sam felt the tears welling up in his eyes and immediately brushed them away. _Crying wouldn't bring Dad home any sooner._

A sudden thought struck him and Sam immediately jumped off the sofa and moved over to the telephone. _Why hadn't he thought of it before? Dad and Caleb might not have to tell anyone when they'd be back, but surely Pastor Jim would? Someone would have to be looking after his parish while he was away_. Sam knew how much the pastor cared for his 'flock', he wouldn't leave it unattended. _So surely they'd have some idea when he'd be due back? It couldn't do any harm to ask anyway._

Sam lifted up the receiver and held it to his ear. He knew the number of the parish in Blue Earth from memory, just as he knew Bobby's and Caleb's. Dad had made him and Dean learn them in case of emergencies. Sam had always wondered what kind of emergencies could possibly arise until he'd found out that his dad was a hunter of the supernatural and not a travelling salesman.

Sam dialled the number. The phone rang once, twice, three times…..

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note 1:** **Once again, I'm really sorry for taking so long to update, but I promise that this fic will get finished. I'm still suffering a horrific case of Writer's Block. Sigh. A big thanks to everyone who has alerted/reviewed since my last update. A special thanks goes to sammygirl1963 for their encouragement through their PM – letting me know people are still interested in this fic!**

**Author's Note 2:**** Just a reminder that this story is set at the beginning of Season 2 when both Sam and Dean were struggling to come to terms with John's death (but after they had left Bobby's and started hunting again).**

Sam dialled the number. The phone rang once, twice, three times…..

A pleasant-sounding woman's voice answered, "Good Morning. You have reached St Peter's Parish, how can I help?"

Sam figured it was better to pretend he didn't know that Pastor Jim was away as he didn't know what excuse his surrogate uncle would have given for being away for so long. _Maybe he'd said he was visiting relatives or was on sabbatical?_ For once, Sam was glad of his adult body and resulting deep voice – _at least he sounded grown-up!_ He doubted they'd take him seriously and answer his questions if they knew it was a kid ringing.

"Hello, I was wondering if I could please speak to Pastor Jim?" Sam was hoping that when the woman responded that he wasn't available, she'd be able to give him some idea of when he was expected back.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, before the woman spoke again. This time her voice was hesitant and strained. "Sir, I'm really sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Pastor Jim was murdered a few months ago. Terrible it was. It happened right here in the church…."

Sam was no longer listening. His brain was in a whirl, struggling to comprehend what he had just heard. _No no no no no! Pastor Jim couldn't be dead!_

"S-sorry, I-I-I've gotta go." The boy dropped the handset of the phone back onto the cradle.

Sam slid down the wall next to the telephone table and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them and dropping his head down onto them. He tried to reason with himself. _It couldn't be! Pastor Jim was fine. It must be a mistake, a trick. He was hunting with Dad and Caleb…Dean had said so! Why would Dean lie?_ Unfortunately, hot on the heels of that thought, Sam came up with a very valid reason why Dean _would_ lie – to protect his little brother. Sam felt the tears fill his eyes and he bit his lip.

Like a sledgehammer another thought suddenly struck him, the force of it made him feel like he couldn't breathe. _If Dean had lied about Pastor Jim, could he have lied about Dad too?_ Sam struggled to draw in any air, he felt as if there was a heavy weight on his chest, crushing him. _No, Dad was fine! He had to be! He'd be back just as soon as he killed the cockatrice._ Sam battled valiantly against letting the doubts surface, violently shaking his head from side to side in an attempt to keep them back.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Dean had decided to take a break. He hadn't actually been working on the cars that long, but he wanted to check on Sammy – he didn't like leaving the kid alone for long periods. Dean paused at the doorway to the autoshop for a moment, looking at the heavy pelting rain with a grimace. He raised his leather jacket above his head to offer some shelter and sprinted across the yard towards the house. Once inside the kitchen, he went in search of his little brother. He found him in the sitting room.

"Hey, Sammy, do…" the words died on Dean's lips as he took in Sam's posture – the kid was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees protectively, his complexion as white as a sheet, but what caught Dean's attention the most were Sam's usually warm hazel eyes – they looked haunted.

"Sammy, what's wrong? What happened? You feel sick?"

Dean immediately crouched down in front of the tall boy, visually assessing him for injuries. He reached out a hand to check for fever, but Sam flinched and jerked his head away.

"D…" Sam's voice came out as a cracked whisper and he swallowed convulsively before trying again, "Dean, Dad's n-not….I mean he's n-not….he's not d-dead is he?"

_What the hell?_ Dean felt as though he'd been physically punched in the gut. _Where the hell had this come from? Sure, now that he knew that Sam's de-aging was permanent, he'd known he'd have to tell him the truth at some point, but not like this! He'd have found some way to prepare him somehow, soften the blow. But how could he possibly deny it now only to go back on it further down the line?_

Sam gazed at him, his expression silently pleading with Dean to reassure him and tell him it wasn't true and that John Winchester was alive and well.

Dean's momentary hesitation was all it took for Sam's world to come crashing in on him.

"Nooooo!" the exclamation tore from Sam's throat with a gut-wrenching sob.

Dean reached for his little brother. "Sammy, I…."

Dean got no further as Sam scrambled to his feet, pushed passed Dean and stumbled from the room. With his crouched position, Dean was knocked totally off balance and ended up sprawled on the floor. He quickly gained his feet and ran after his brother, but by the time he reached the doorway of the room, Sam was nowhere in sight. Dean set about searching the house. _He needed to find Sam!_

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Sam just ran blindly – he had no idea where he was going. He was totally overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions within. He just had to get away – away from the pain, away from the anguish, away from the surging panic. He couldn't deal, he couldn't think clearly, he couldn't breathe. The child felt as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Dean cursed. He'd searched from top to bottom – the kid was nowhere in the house which meant he'd gone out into the yard. Dean just hoped that Sam had stayed on Bobby's property. His fruitless search had wasted precious time. _Time where Sam had been grieving alone!_ He anxiously ran his hand over his face. _I've got to find him!_

Dean could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he entered the junkyard, oblivious to the pouring rain. He had temporarily buried his own raw emotions regarding their father's death in the deepest depths of his mind – Sam was all that mattered right now.

"Sammy!"

There was no response.

Within minutes, Dean was soaked to the skin – he'd left his jacket inside. Every so often he called out for his brother and the corresponding silence each time notched up Dean's anxiety further.

His search was made more difficult by the fact that the junkyard was cluttered with so many scrapped vehicles that it created a haven for someone who wanted to hide. They had both enjoyed many fun-filled hours of playing hide-and-seek there as children, but the eldest Winchester was cursing the existence of the wreckages now. Dean had to circle around each one individually and also check each rusted interior. The unrelenting pounding of the rain dulled his hearing, making him resent the fact that he was unable to hear any quiet rustles or movements that may alert him to the whereabouts of his distraught baby brother.

After fifteen minutes of futile searching, Dean finally spotted a crumpled figure huddled by the small, iron gate in the back wall which led to the path to the tree-house.

"Sammy!" Dean rushed to the boy's side.

There was no response. Sam seemed totally unaware of his presence. Dean's heart broke as he took in the sight before him. Sam was rocking slightly, his tear-filled eyes glazed over and unseeing. Dean was genuinely surprised the kid hadn't passed out with his stilted breathing – if it wasn't for the harsh sobs wracking his tall frame, he was sure Sam would be hyperventilating.

Dean crouched down and reached for his brother.

"Sammy, it's Dean. Look at me, tiger."

Sam didn't respond. It was obvious to Dean that he was suffering some kind of emotional shock.

As soon as Dean touched Sam's arm, the boy recoiled and instinctively lashed out, lost in his own little world. This time, Dean was prepared and Sam's flailing didn't knock him off balance. The child tried to scramble away on all fours. Acting quickly, determined not to lose Sam again, Dean moved and wrapped his arms around his struggling little brother, trapping the boy's wildly thrashing arms against his sides. Sam resisted, but his movements were uncoordinated and Dean easily pulled him onto his lap and held him securely against his chest. With his arms successfully pinned, Sam continued to kick haphazardly – the kicks weren't aimed, they were part of the hysteria, so Dean easily avoided the flailing feet.

Dean immediately began a litany of comforting words, keeping his tone gentle and soothing.

"It's okay, Sammy. Big brother's gotcha. Come on back to me. I'll take care of you. It's gonna be all right. Come on, tiger, you've gotta calm down…."

For what seemed like hours to Dean, though in reality it was only a few minutes, Sam continued to struggle against him, seemingly oblivious to his words. Sam's unresponsiveness was really beginning to scare him. Dean was just considering whether he should slap the boy to try and end his hysterics, when Sam suddenly went limp in his arms.

"Sammy?" he questioned gently.

"D-dean?"

Sam's broken voice was the most welcome sound in the world to Dean and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"I'm here, Sammy, I've gotcha."

Sam turned his head and buried it into his big brother's shoulder, his sobs increasing in voracity and volume. Dean released his restraining hold on Sam's arms and hugged the boy tightly to him.

"Shhh, Sammy. Try and breathe with me, okay? You gotta slow it down."

"D-d-daddy, I w-want Daddy."

Sam's words shattered Dean's heart further. Sam had stopped calling John 'daddy' and progressed to the more mature 'dad' shortly after his eighth birthday, at the same time that he'd been teased at school about sleeping with his stuffed dog, Digger.

"I want him too, Sammy, but you've got me. I'm not going anywhere, ever! It's gonna be okay, I promise."

Dean felt Sam shake his head against his shoulder, his tall frame heaving violently with the force of his sobs.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now, Sammy, but I'll get you through this. It _will_ be okay. Hush now, please calm down, tiger." Dean used one hand to run soothingly up and down Sam's shaking back.

Dean was desperate to comfort his brother. He couldn't bear seeing Sam so distraught. Twenty-three-year-old Sam had coped badly with John's death and Dean himself had been a total mess at the time and unable to be any kind of support to his brother. Sam had tried to talk to him, but Dean had shut him down again and again, unable in his private grief-stricken world to realise what his distant stance was doing to his little brother. In fact, it had taken Dean losing control over his bottled emotions and punching Sam to finally make him come to his senses. It was one of Dean's biggest regrets, one that would always haunt him, that he had failed so spectacularly and let his brother down by not being there for him in the immediate aftermath of their father's death, but even so, he had still been confident that _adult_ Sam was strong enough and could handle it and would get through it on his own. Now though, John's death was hitting _eight-year-old_ Sammy a million times harder and Dean was determined to be there for him this time around – _he would not fail his little brother again!_

Dean cupped one hand behind Sam's shaggy head, his other arm wrapped tight around the boy, holding him firmly against his broad chest and unconsciously began to rock. Sam's sobs still showed no sign of abating and he clung to his brother like a lifeline. Dean continued to whisper soothing words into his hair.

How long they sat there, on the ground, in Bobby's junkyard, in the pouring rain, Dean had no clue. It wasn't until an involuntary shiver wracked his own body that he became aware once more of his surroundings. Ceasing his rocking motion, Dean took a moment to study Sam in his arms. Although his sobs lacked the volume of before, they were still continuously wracking his tall frame. With his body shaking from the sobs, Dean hadn't noticed that the boy was also shivering - whether from shock or cold he couldn't tell. They were both drenched. Inwardly, Dean cursed himself for allowing them to remain outside.

"Come on, tiger. Let's get you out of the rain," Dean spoke softly.

Sam didn't resist, but made no attempt to help when Dean carefully pushed them both to their feet. The older Winchester immediately wrapped his arm around Sam's waist as the boy swayed dangerously. With shuffling, slow steps, Dean managed to coax his little brother through the junkyard towards the house. Sam's silence concerned him – apart from the sound of his tears, the boy had not uttered a single word since saying he wanted his daddy.

What seemed like hours later, but in reality could only have been a little over ten minutes, Dean had finally gotten Sam inside Bobby's and up the stairs to their bedroom.

Dean had kept up a steady stream of soft conversation the whole way. Whether his little brother was actually taking in anything he said or not, he wasn't sure, but Sam had always been soothed by both his and his John's voices when he was a child the first time around. Dean clamped down viciously on the thought that neither he nor Sammy would never hear his Dad's voice ever again. _He had to be strong for Sammy! Sammy needed him!_

"Okay, Sammy, let's get you out of those wet clothes, hey?"

Dean stood for a moment after letting go of his brother's waist, ready to catch him if he should fall. He'd noticed on the way back to the house how unsteady Sam seemed to be on his feet – he assumed it was caused by shock. The tall boy wobbled for a moment before finding his balance. Sam's arms slid around himself in a protective self-hug as Dean stepped back out of Sam's personal space.

Dean hurriedly grabbed a clean pair of sweats, t-shirt, adult Sam's favourite hoodie and fresh underwear from the closet. He quickly moved back to his brother and held the items out.

"Here you go, kiddo. Put these on for me, 'kay? We've gotta get you dry 'n warmed up."

Sam didn't respond. Or move. He stared at the items in Dean's hands uncomprehending, tears making unending rivulets down his cheeks.

"How about I help you, hey?" suggested Dean gently.

As adults, they'd both needed to remove each other's clothes on occasions in order to deal with injuries when one of them had been incapacitated due to a hunt, so Dean quickly stripped his brother of his soaked t-shirt and jeans. Sam had needed coaxing to lift each leg while Dean supported his weight in order to remove the jeans from his feet and slip off his shoes and socks. When Sam was standing in just his boxers, Dean hesitated – tending to injuries hadn't necessitated the removal of underwear.

"You wanna put these on yourself, Sammy?" queried Dean, holding out the dry boxers.

Again, Sam didn't respond, he just swayed slightly on his feet. Dean wanted to get the kid horizontal as soon as possible – _before he fell over!_ After hesitating for a moment longer, Dean mentally shook himself. _This wasn't his adult brother he was dealing with - Sam was only eight years old, he was too young to mind his family seeing his privates._ Acting quickly, and trying to keep his eyes averted as much as possible, Dean quickly pulled down the wet underwear and encouraged Sam to step out of it.

"Dammit," he muttered, realising he hadn't fetched a towel. He didn't want Sam to get cold or be uncomfortable with putting the dry clothes over wet skin.

Dean had just exited the bedroom door when a panicked cry from Sam halted him in his tracks.

"D- D-DEAN!"

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean rushed straight to his little brother's side.

"D-don't leave m-me!" Sam's hazel eyes were terror stricken and he reached out, clutching Dean's forearm so hard it hurt.

"Oh, Sammy, I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you _ever_. I promise. I was just gonna go get a towel to dry you."

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him into a crushing hug. He was overwhelmed with relief that Sam was showing some signs of coherency – the complete unresponsiveness was scaring him – but the fear and anguish in the familiar hazel eyes broke his heart.

Eventually, Dean pulled back from the hug, conscious that his brother was still shivering and aware that the tall boy's naked state would be contributing if the tremors were due to cold.

"I'm just gonna go get a towel so you can get dry and dressed, okay? I'm only going to the bathroom and I'll be right back, I swear. You understand, Sammy? I'm not leaving."

Dean waited until he got a faint nod from Sam before literally sprinting down the hallway to the bathroom. Dean was back in five seconds flat. Sam was standing exactly where he'd left him in the middle of the room and Dean quickly towelled him off, before dressing him in the clean dry clothes. This time, Sam tried to help a little without being prompted, stepping into the fresh boxers and sweats when Dean held them open, before allowing Dean to pull them up and sliding his arms through the sleeves of the t-shirt and hoodie when Dean popped them over his head.

Wanting to be close to his brother and knowing Sam needed him, Dean quickly stripped off his own drenched clothing and used the now damp towel he had used on the child to dry himself, not prepared to leave Sam again, even for a minute, to fetch another one.

Sam's sobs were finally beginning to taper off, but his breathing still hitched continuously. It was obvious to Dean that his little brother was on the brink of exhaustion. Spotting the stuffed dog, Digger, sitting on Sam's pillow, Dean grabbed it and handed it to the eight-year-old. Sam immediately hugged it to him. Dean then placed his arm around the tall boy's waist and gently pulled him over towards the kingsize bed.

"Come on, Sammy, lie down."

Sam shook his head, his tear-filled eyes wide and fearful. "N-no. You p-promised."

"Hey, shhh, calm down, tiger. I'm gonna lie down with you. I'm not gonna leave you."

Dean eased Sam gently down onto the bed and then lay down himself, pulling Sam into his arms. The eight-year-old rested his head on his big brother's chest, shifting his position until he could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Bobby drove his truck through the gates and up the driveway. He'd picked up some groceries as well as a couple of books on mythical creatures that he'd ordered online and had had delivered to a local antique book dealer.

Cursing the rain, Bobby parked as close to the front door as he could. It took him three trips to transfer all the goods from the truck to the porch. The seasoned hunter half-expected one of the Winchester brothers to come out and help. With Dean's hunting instincts, he would definitely have heard the truck approach, but then Bobby remembered that he'd been planning on working in the autoshop that morning.

Bobby quickly put the kitchen groceries away, before moving to his library and unwrapping his three new books. The house was quiet and there had been no sign of Sam playing in the living room, so he figured the child was keeping his big brother company out in the autoshop.

Carrying the new tube of toothpaste and bottle of bubble bath he'd bought for Sam, Bobby ascended the stairs in order to place them in the bathroom. When he was nearly at the top, he immediately became aware of soft sounds that had been inaudible downstairs. Bobby recognised the voice and the tone – Dean was murmuring so quietly that he couldn't make out what was being said, but it was the tone he used whenever Sam was upset or needed reassurance. Intermingled with Dean's soothing voice were low sniffles. _What had happened? Why was Sam upset? Maybe he'd hurt himself?_ pondered the older hunter.

Bobby glanced into his boys' bedroom on his way passed. Both Winchesters were on Dean's bed and Sam was lying in his brother's arms. One look at Dean's face brought Bobby to an involuntary standstill – something was terribly wrong. This obviously wasn't just some scraped knee or upset over a broken toy. Dean's face was filled with pain. He looked broken. Sam was unaware of his brother's unguarded expression as he had his head on Dean's chest with his eyes closed, tears continuing to slip unbidden from his closed eyelids.

Bobby stepped forward over the threshold in concern. _What the hell had happened?_ The movement caught Dean's attention and immediately his mask, his game face, slipped into place as he raised his head to meet his surrogate father's gaze. Dean didn't pause in the litany of soft, soothing words he was sharing with his little brother.

Bobby took a moment to study his boys, relieved to find no obvious sign of injury, before raising an enquiring eyebrow. Dean mouthed one word silently back to him. Bobby wasn't much of a lipreader, but there was no mistaking the single word he mouthed: "Dad."

For a fraction of a second, Bobby was confused, until the realisation of what that one word implied hit him like a ten ton truck. Bobby paled and physically took a step backwards. _The kid knew! The kid knew John was dead. _Bobby had known that Sam would need to learn the truth at some point, but he knew Dean hadn't planned on sharing it now, as he would have let him know in advance. _What had happened to make Dean tell Sam the truth now?_

Although Bobby wanted nothing more than to comfort his boys – he knew Dean had not yet allowed himself to grieve properly over John's death – he recognized it was not what they needed. Sam needed Dean and Dean would reject any comfort offered to him, insisting he was fine and didn't need it. Bobby made his way downstairs with a heavy heart and poured himself a shot of whiskey which he downed without hesitation.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Dean could feel Sam's regular puffs of breath against his forearm, as he gently carded his hand through the chocolate locks. The boy was forced to breathe through his mouth with his sinuses being completely clogged from crying. The kid had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep about half an hour ago. Sam was sprawled half on top of his brother, one hand clutching a fistful of Dean's shirt and the other clutching Digger. Dean's t-shirt was damp with Sam's tears.

Now that Sam was asleep, Dean was fighting a losing battle to block his own thoughts. While Sam was awake and inconsolable, he had been solely focussed on the needs of his baby brother. Sam's distress had been overwhelming. Now, with no distractions, Dean was grappling with his own buried demons. Adult Sam had cried on numerous occasions in the weeks following John Winchester's death, but Dean himself had not shed a single tear since they had given him a hunter's funeral and burned his body. He had buried his feelings deep, but they were currently wrestling their way to the surface and Dean found himself powerless to stop them. _Never again would his dad hug him when he returned from a hunt. Never again would he and his dad sit side by side cleaning the weapons. Never again would he and his dad argue over who picked the music when driving. Never again would he feel his dad's hand on his shoulder. Never again would his dad share new knowledge he had gained about the supernatural. Never again would his dad drive the Impala, which had originally been his. Never again would his dad say he was proud of him. Never again would his dad tell him to watch out for Sammy, Never again would his dad tell him he loved him…._

The floodgates finally broke and Dean was wracked with silent sobs. He carefully slid Sam off his chest and onto the bed next to him so that his shaking frame would not awaken the slumbering child.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

Bobby tiptoed upstairs to check on his surrogate sons. He felt helpless, knowing he could do nothing to ease Sam's grief. The first thing he became aware of was the silence – Dean was no longer talking. Dean would never stop comforting Sam, so Bobby figured that probably the youngster had cried himself to sleep. He peeked around the doorframe, anxious not to make a sound and risk awakening the child.

The scene that met Bobby filled him with pain for his adopted family. Sam was indeed sleeping, lying snuggled up to Dean's side, Digger just visible in the crook of his elbow. Dean was propped up against the headboard, his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs from his finally unfettered anguish.

Knowing that if he made his presence known, Dean would immediately attempt to rein in his emotions and bottle them once more, Bobby quietly backed away and crept downstairs. As much as he hated leaving Dean alone with his grief, he knew it was the only way that Dean would allow himself to grieve….

**TBC**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** I just wanted to give a heads-up to judyann who wondered really early on in this story if Sammy would find out about John being dead. I didn't want to give away the plot, but I'll admit I planned from the beginning for Sam to find out.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Warning:** **Although this story is set near the beginning of Season 2, this chapter contains spoilers for later Seasons.**

**Author's Note:**** A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted or favourited this story since I last updated it! I cannot do justice to how much your encouragement means to me **** I am so sorry it has taken me so long to update – real life is still not giving me any free time to write **** Then on the odd occasions I've had some time, writers' block has hit hard. Once more, I give you my word that this story will be completed and will never be abandoned.**

**Time Switch Chapter 16**

Dean awoke slowly, his neck aching from the angle he was propped up against the headboard. Something warm, heavy and familiar rested on his lower half, effectively trapping him in place. Dean's eyes felt strangely gritty as he blinked them open, confirming the presence of Sam's shaggy head in his lap. He had a dull headache radiating from his sinuses and behind his eyes. For a moment, Dean was confused as to why he and his brother were apparently sleeping in the middle of the day. However, that blissful state of ignorance was shattered a second later as the events from earlier crashed into his consciousness. Dean was immediately swamped with overwhelming concern for his baby brother. He glanced down at Sam, studying him – Sam was fast asleep, his chocolate bangs falling over his eyes, however the dry tear tracks were clearly visible on his cheek. Dean was relieved that the child was at least experiencing a temporary reprieve from his distress while he slept.

Dean couldn't believe he'd actually lost it like that and bawled like a baby. _Thank heaven there had been no witnesses! _Strangely though, he felt lighter somehow, as if a burden he was unaware he had been carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. Adult Sam had warned him over and over that bottling his emotions was damaging and had attempted to encourage him to grieve, but Dean had shot him down every time. It wasn't as if he had ever consciously made the decision to block his feelings; Dean couldn't put his finger on the exact moment growing up when he had subconsciously decided that being a good son and acting as a surrogate parent for Sammy meant that he had to be strong all the time. His Dad had most certainly never vocally advocated the bottling of emotions, but throughout Dean's childhood and seen through his young, impressionable eyes, John had always seemed infallible, immovable, omnipotent – Dean could not remember his father showing any emotions, with the exception of the anniversary of his mother's death, and the young boy had striven to emulate his Dad, his hero. It was only as an adult that Dean had realised that John _did_ in fact show his emotions; he had just done so in private. John's well-intentioned attempt to protect his boys from his own pain had backfired, leaving his eldest emotionally stunted, unable to freely express feelings of grief, sorrow and distress. Once adult Dean had realised that his father did actually display the full emotional range, it was too late, the damage had already been done – Dean never _consciously_ bottled his feelings, he did it _subconsciously _and had no control to prevent it.

A snuffle from Sam drew Dean's attention. The boy was still fast asleep, Digger clutched tightly to his chest with one arm. Dean unconsciously ran his hand gently through the slumbering boy's chocolate locks. Sam didn't stir, Dean's touch having been welcome and familiar since babyhood. _What the hell had happened to make his kid brother come to the conclusion that his dad might be dead?_ Dean was at a loss. He and Bobby had both been incredibly careful not to mention John around Sam and besides, Dean also knew that it couldn't be anything they'd said as the kid had been perfectly fine that morning when Bobby left and he'd gone to the autoshop.

For the first time since John Winchester's death, Dean actively allowed himself to remember….

_John was sitting on the sofa in their run-down apartment, studying a book he had told Dean he was not under any circumstances allowed to touch. The six-year-old had sneaked a glance at the cover anyway when his daddy had gone to the toilet. It was about monsters. Dean wondered if the monster that had made his Mommy go to Heaven was listed in there. Two-year-old Sammy was sitting on the carpet building with his large plastic blocks, babbling to himself. Dean was sprawled in the armchair, watching 'Tom and Jerry' on the ancient-looking TV. Sammy pushed himself to his feet and toddled over to his father._

"_Up, Dada!" demanded the toddler imperiously, raising his arms._

_John glanced up from the book, taking in his baby's expectant expression._

_John set aside the book on the arm of the sofa and reached for the child. "Come here you little monkey."_

"_No monkey," giggled the toddler, pointing to himself, "Sammy!"_

"_Sammy monkey, huh?" grinned John._

"_Nuh-uh." The two-year-old shook his head vigorously, reaching out and fingering the buttons on his daddy's shirt._

"_Are you sure you're not a monkey, Sammy?" John teased, his research of the supernatural temporarily pushed to the back of his mind._

_The toddler nodded. "No monkey! Pway wif Sammy?"_

_Dean had lost interest in the cartoon, watching the interaction between his daddy and little brother. He loved to see Daddy smile!_

_John stood up, the child securely in his arms, before tossing him high in the air. He caught the toddler easily and repeated the process. Sammy's delighted squeals of laughter filled the room._

_Looking up, John caught and held Dean's gaze for a moment. He gently set his still giggling baby down on the sofa and strode purposefully towards his eldest._

"_Deano's turn now I think," he grinned._

_John scooped up his six-year-old as easily as he had his toddler and tossed him. His marine training and physique, which he had let relapse while married to his beloved Mary, he had worked hard to regain once more since her death. He threw and caught his eldest as if he weighed no more than a couple of pounds._

_Laughter bubbled out of Dean, seeming to come from the very depths of his soul. It was such fun! The little boy was totally confident that his daddy would catch him each time._

_Sammy sat on the sofa, squealing and clapping as he watched his father and big brother. "Daddy 'n Dee pway."_

_Catching his eldest child one last time, John looked down into the joy-filled, shining green eyes of his son and hugged the child snugly to him, dropping a kiss on his dark-blond hair. Dean wrapped his arms tightly around John's neck and rested his head on his shoulder, savouring the closeness._

_John carried the six-year-old over to the small, dilapidated toy-box in the corner of the room and lowered himself to the floor, settling Dean securely on his lap and wrapping an arm around his waist. John then turned and held out a hand towards his toddler._

"_Come and play, Sammy."_

_The two-year-old wriggled his bottom to the edge of the sofa, before sliding down to the floor. He then toddled quickly over to his father and brother. John shifted Dean onto one knee and lifted his baby onto the other._

"_Okay, Boys, what should we play?"_

Another memory slipped into the forefront of Dean's mind….

_It was late on the eve of the 2__nd__ of November. Eight-year-old Dean woke slowly as he felt his bed dip. A moment later he felt a familiar hand gently patting his hip through the blankets. The boy opened his eyes to see his father sitting on the edge of his bed._

"_Daddy?" he queried, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fists._

"_Hey, kiddo," John slurred, reaching out and running his hand gently through his son's hair._

_John always checked on his sleeping sons before going to bed at night, but he never usually disturbed their slumber._

_Dean wanted to ask if his father was okay, but he knew that he wasn't – today was the date that Mommy had died when Sammy was just a baby. Like every other anniversary of his mother's death, John had locked himself in his bedroom all day, leaving Dean to care for Sammy. Last year, Dean had pressed his ear to the door to try and check on his daddy – the loud, gut-wrenching sobs he had overheard from his hero had frightened the child._

_Dean carefully sat up. Now that he was closer, he could easily smell the alcohol on his father's breath._

"_I'm so so sorry, Deano."_

"_What for, Daddy?" Dean was desperate to comfort him and hesitantly reached out his small hand and patted the hunter's knee._

"_For living like this," John slurred, making a sweeping gesture with his arms, "You know I love you right? More than anything."_

"_Yeah, Daddy. I know. I love you too."_

_John wrapped his arms around his child and pulled him to his chest, burying his face in the sleep-tousled hair and inhaling Dean's familiar little boy scent._

"_I couldn't bear to lose you or your brother. It would kill me," John murmured._

_A moment later, the hunter lifted Dean's blankets and climbed into his son's bed, hugging the eight-year-old to him. Dean snuggled into John's side, relishing being held and feeling loved._

"_You won't lose us, Daddy, I promise," he tried to reassure his father._

"_Love you, Dean. Always!" was John's fervent response before falling into a drunken sleep._

Another memory flooded Dean's consciousness…

_Seventeen-year-old Dean writhed on the motel room bed, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists to keep from screaming. The burning was getting worse._

_Sam was standing anxiously by the side of the bed, wringing his hands. The thirteen-year-old looked stricken, his face pale with tears pouring unhindered down his cheeks._

_Dean tried to speak, to reassure his little brother, but when he opened his mouth, nothing but a pain-ridden moan escaped his lips._

_John finished frantically rummaging in his duffel bag on the other side of the room and moved quickly back to his sons, clutching his home-made first aid kit._

_Dean's eyes were glazed with pain, tears that he was powerless to prevent leaking from the corners. It broke John's heart to witness his child in such agony._

"_Shhh, Dean. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be just fine," John's tone was gentle and soothing. He reached out and rested the palm of his hand momentarily on the teenager's forehead._

_Despite the escalating pain, Dean tried to lean into the touch, his father's presence calming and extinguishing the overwhelming fear that was accompanying the pain. The thorough research that they had carried out before they had commenced this hunt told Dean intellectually that we would survive this, but it didn't seem possible to endure such agony and live. His father's stalwart presence gave him much-needed reassurance and comfort._

_Dean grabbed for his father's hand as the hunter removed it from his forehead. John took his son's hand in his own and squeezed it for a moment before speaking._

"_I'm not going anywhere, kiddo. I'm just gonna give you a sedative. It's the only way to stop the pain. When you wake up, you'll be right as rain."_

_John gently disentangled his hand from Dean's, so that he could open the first aid box and load a syringe. An extra loud sob from Sam drew John's attention from his eldest to his youngest son._

"_It's okay, Sammy," he tried to soothe the distraught child, "Dean's gonna be fine. Remember, Fire Imps' poison isn't fatal to humans, it just needs to work its way out of Dean's system."_

_John turned back to Dean and in one smooth move pinned the teenager's arm with one hand and injected the contents of the syringe into his upper arm._

"_You'll feel better soon, I promise, Son."_

_John discarded the empty syringe on the bedside table and reached once more for Dean's hand, holding it tightly._

_Dean clutched it like a lifeline. He couldn't handle this overwhelming pain for much longer. He was on fire!_

_Keeping hold of Dean's hand in one of his own, John used his other to card through the teenager's soft, short, dark-blond hair, murmuring words of comfort._

_The agonising pain finally began to recede and just before medicated sleep claimed him, Dean felt the gentle brush of his father's lips to his forehead._

Yet another memory commanded Dean's attention…..

_It had been two weeks since the colossal bust up between Sam and Dad, resulting in his nineteen-year-old brother walking out, determined to accept his scholarship at Stanford in the Fall. Dean felt that his world had completely fallen apart – there was a ginormous Sammy-shaped hole in his life. He looked down once more at the ancient tome in his hands, trying to concentrate on the Latin words before him. He was supposed to be memorising a new exorcism. After a moment, Dean gave up, raising his head to stare impassively out of the dingy motel room window. Underneath the calm surface, Dean was in turmoil – he missed his little brother so much that it was like he'd had part of himself amputated, it was almost a physical pain, but at the same time he was unequivocally furious with Sam, hurt that he had abandoned him, then added to that was his all-consuming worry for his baby brother out there in the big bad world, alone._

_Suddenly, Dean startled as he felt a familiar hand land on his shoulder. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't heard his father exit the bathroom._

_John squeezed his son's shoulder gently and then left his hand resting there._

_Dean easily plastered the fake grin on his face as he looked up at the Winchester patriarch – he was a master at hiding his emotions._

"_I hate Latin," he grumbled, jostling the book in his hands._

_John however knew exactly where his eldest son's thoughts lay – his own lay there too._

"_He'll be okay you know….we trained him well. And we'll check up on him regularly. In fact, I thought we could swing by Stanford this weekend."_

_Dean couldn't bring himself to speak, so he simply nodded._

_John took hold of Dean's arm and hauled the young man to his feet, the ancient tome falling forgotten to his feet, as his dad pulled him into a tight hug._

One by one, memories of John Winchester filtered through Dean's mind, moments in his life when his father had been there for him. Unnoticed, tears trickled down his cheeks, but these were silent, cleansing tears and not the anguished, tortured grief from before. For the first time since John Winchester's death, Dean felt the crushing anger he bore towards the man for sacrificing himself diminish.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural**

It was nearing half past three in the afternoon when Dean felt Sam beginning to stir. The kid had been asleep for just over three hours. Dean knew that the child had slept so long due to emotional exhaustion. He was immediately alert, unsure how his little brother would react once awake. _Would Sammy be hysterical? Or unresponsive as he had been earlier?_

Sam fidgeted for a moment, rubbing his cheek against Dean's chest and snuffling, before settling once more. Sam had always taken a while to awaken fully as a child – except of course for those times when rudely awakened by an alarm clock for school or an irate John Winchester whenever they were required to move in the middle of the night or early morning. Dean rested a comforting hand on Sam's back and watched his little brother intently. A few minutes later, Sam wrinkled his nose and mumbled something incoherently while he slept. Dean studied the boy's features, lax with sleep – he looked so young and vulnerable. Dean would give anything to prevent the pain that he knew with certainty would emerge once the child awoke and remembered – and Dean knew it wouldn't be long now until Sam awakened fully as the tall boy was growing increasingly restless.

Sleep lifted slowly from Sam. He felt groggy and muzzy, a dull headache stretching across his forehead and behind his still-closed eyes, which caused the boy to scrunch his forehead in discomfort. He also felt disorientated for a moment before he became aware of a soothing _thump thump_ sound. Sam immediately relaxed. _Dean - _Sam would recognise the sound of his big brother's heartbeat anywhere. He squirmed and stretched, rubbing his cheek against the warm chest under his cheek. Sam's hazel eyes slowly blinked open and he sleepily rubbed a fist across them, trying to rid himself of the gungy, sticky feeling. He didn't feel well – even though he'd obviously been asleep, he still felt tired and besides the dull headache, his nose was blocked. _Hope I'm not getting the flu, _he thought.

Dean watched with concern as his little brother finally awoke. He could tell from Sam's languid stretching that the child had not yet registered the events of earlier. He scrutinized Sam carefully as the boy's hazel orbs slowly opened and he scrubbed them with the back of his hand, looking exactly as he had as a toddler when he had done the same.

"Hey, Sammy, you with me?" murmured Dean.

Sam gave a big yawn before responding. "Ummm, 'm tired," he grumbled.

Dean moved his hand from Sam's back and ran it through his little brother's sleep-mussed, floppy hair. "It's okay, Sammy, you go back to sleep if you wanna."

"Yeah," mumbled Sam, his eyes slipping closed once more with a sigh.

Dean felt completely helpless, knowing that a melt-down was inevitable once the kid remembered. He found himself hoping that Sam would fall back asleep, just to give his little brother a longer respite from the grief.

A mere two minutes later, Sam's whole body went rigid and his eyes flew open as his memories of that morning finally seeped into his drowsy consciousness. _Maybe it had all been a dream and his dad was just fine? _ He raised his head, immediately seeking Dean's face for reassurance – seeing the concern and worry etched in his brother's green gaze dashed that desperate hope. Sam's face crumpled. Dean immediately wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him tightly.

"Shh, you're okay, Sammy."

Dean could feel his brother shaking with the force of his tears, but these sobs were almost silent as opposed to the loud, gut-wrenching ones of earlier. Sam turned his head and buried it into Dean's chest. It took over twenty minutes for his little brother's tears to finally abate. Throughout, Dean had kept up a constant litany of comforting words.

Even though his tears had stopped, Sam made no attempt to speak or move, lying limply in his brother's arms. Dean continued his murmured soothing words, unsure whether he should begin the conversation he knew they needed to have or to wait for Sam to broach the subject. He had thought long and hard while his little brother had been asleep about what to tell him about their dad's death. Mentioning the intricacies of demon deals and the fact that John Winchester was now trapped, being tortured in Hell for all eternity was definitely out of the question, but he couldn't outright lie to the kid either. Aware of the fact that Sam kept sniffing, Dean reached over to the bedside cabinet and pulled a tissue from the box that had somehow mysteriously appeared while they had both been asleep earlier. _Thank you, Bobby._

"Blow, Sammy," instructed Dean, holding the tissue to his brother's nose as he had done when Sam was just a toddler.

Sam obediently blew his nose, but the action caused the pressure in his bunged up sinuses to increase which intensified the headache he had woken up with to a sharp, stabbing pain momentarily. "Ow," he whimpered.

Dean caught the quiet sound of distress. "Tiger, you….." Dean trailed off. He had been going to ask if Sam was okay. _What a stupid question! Of course the kid wasn't okay. _He rephrased his question. "You hurting, Sammy?"

"Headache," responded the tall boy quietly, listlessly.

Dean began to manoeuvre himself gently out from under his brother. "I'll go get you some medicine…."

"NO!" Sam's reaction was immediate. He clutched desperately at his big brother. "Don't leave me!"

"Hey now, calm down, Tiger. I'm not gonna leave you. Promise," Dean immediately pulled his distraught little brother back into his arms and settled once more on the bed.

Sam kept his arms wrapped around Dean's stomach, determined to never let go. _He'd lost Daddy, he couldn't lose Dean._

Dean wasn't prepared to let the child continue in pain – _he might not be able to do anything about the emotional pain, but he could at least fix the physical one._

"Bobby!" he called, knowing that the older hunter would be on alert.

A moment later he heard Bobby's footsteps moving quickly up the stairs. The veteran hunter appeared in the doorway, baseball cap in one hand.

"Dean?" he questioned, his gaze roving over both Winchesters to reassure himself that they were both holding up as best they could given the circumstances. Bobby's heart broke at the sight of Sam's flushed face, his puffy red eyes and the way he was clinging to his brother.

"Could you please get the children's painkillers and decongestant medicine from the bathroom cabinet?" Dean was relieved that he had stocked up on a wide range of children's medicines when Sam was first de-aged by the curse.

"Sure thing." Bobby moved quickly to do as requested and returned carrying two bottles and a plastic measuring spoon.

Realising that Dean was encumbered by the fact that his little brother was clinging to him like a limpet, Bobby quickly read the instructions on the bottles and poured out the correct dosages. Sam simply raised his head from his brother's chest in order to swallow the two spoonfuls of strawberry-flavoured painkiller and two spoonfuls of grape-flavoured decongestant that Bobby held out, refusing to sit up as that would mean relinquishing his hold on Dean.

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean met the concerned eyes of the older hunter.

"Need anything else?" Bobby was at a loss as to how to help his surrogate sons through this.

Dean shook his head. "No thanks."

"Okay, just yell if you do." Bobby reached out and patted Sam's leg. "I'm here for you kid," he said gruffly, before moving his hand to Dean's shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. Casting a last glance at the two Winchesters, Bobby made his way back downstairs.

Dean immediately began his soothing, one-sided dialogue once more, carding one hand gently through his little brother's hair. Sam allowed his brother's calming voice to wash over him. He felt empty, dazed, drained. Slowly the medication took effect and the pressure and pain in his head began to recede. Questions began to form in Sam's mind, but he didn't know if he could bear to hear the answers – he remembered clearly the terrifying monsters he'd read of in his dad's journal. _What if Dad died horrifically in pain?_

A short while later Dean's monologue was interrupted by a small broken voice.

"Dean, when did Dad die?"

Dean was surprised by the question for a moment. He had been expecting Sam to ask _how_ not _when_.

"He only died a couple of months ago, not long before you were made younger by that curse. So we had many long years together," explained Dean gently. He wanted Sam to imagine that they'd been a loving family right up to adulthood; he could and would keep secret the fact that John and Sam had spent the majority of his mid and late teen years at each other's throats. Eight-year-old Sam had still hero-worshipped their dad and he intended to keep it that way. Adult Sam had been guilt-ridden by his estranged relationship with his father after his death. At least he could spare Sam from that now.

"Why didn't you tell me?" was Sam's next hesitant question, although he was certain he already knew the answer to this. _Dean wanted to protect him._

"I honestly hoped I wouldn't have to. I didn't want to upset you. I wanted to protect you. When you were first cursed, I had no idea what had happened or how permanent it would be. If I'd told you straight away and then you'd been cured, you'd have gone through all that grief and heartache for nothing. I wanted to spare you that. You understand?"

Sam nodded. "I do, but you couldn't hide it forever. I mean, Dad couldn't have stayed on the cockatrice hunt much longer without me thinking something had happened to him anyway…." Sam faltered and fresh tears slipped through his lashes._ Something __**had **__happened to his dad and he was scared to ask what_, "….I m-mean, were you planning on ever telling me the t-truth?"

"Yeah, Sammy, I was. I swear. I knew the longer you were cursed and we couldn't find a cure that I'd have to tell you at some point. But I wanted to find the right time, it's not just something you can blurt out." Dean gently wiped away the tears on Sam's cheek with his calloused thumb.

"I guess," mumbled Sam, subconsciously leaning in to his brother's touch. He took a deep breath before asking his next question, knowing that no matter how much he feared the answer, he would go mad with wondering if he didn't find out how their dad died – his fertile imagination able to produce an unending train of horrific scenarios each more gruesome than the last.

"Was Dad murdered like Pastor Jim? Were they together? The lady said Pastor Jim died a few months ago and you said Dad did too so I was wonderin'"

_Pastor Jim? How the hell did Sam know about that? Lady? _"What lady, Sam?" questioned Dean.

Sam avoided his brother's searching gaze – he wasn't supposed to use the telephone without permission unless it was an emergency. "I was missing Dad and you 'n Uncle Bobby kept saying you didn't know when he'd be back. I didn't wanna keep pestering you about it. Then I suddenly thought that Pastor Jim couldn't just leave his church with no-one to look after it so he might have told them when he'd be back. So I rang his parish and a lady picked up. She told me Pastor Jim was murdered in the church and then I got to thinkin' that if you'd lied about Pastor Jim, would you lie about D-dad too…" Sam trailed off with a sniffle.

Dean inwardly cursed his younger brother's intelligence. Sam's plan had been completely logical, but if the kid had been less clever he'd never have thought of it, so he'd never have found out about Pastor Jim and then put two and two together about their dad. However, Dean couldn't help wondering if this was actually for the best – it saved him from fretting about how to broach the subject. _How would he have ever found the _'right'_ time to tell the child?_

Dean stroked Sam's cheek with his index finger as the boy gulped in deep breaths of air, attempting to stop the tears that were falling once more. Another though had struck the eight-year-old.

"D-dean, what about Caleb? You s-said he was on the hunt too. Is he….?"

"I'm sorry, Sammy, he's gone too," replied Dean quietly, "I didn't want you to worry about not hearing from any of them. I honestly thought it was for the best at the time."

Dean rubbed Sam's back as the boy cried. He glanced at the bedside cabinet – along with the box of tissues were a jug of water and two glasses. _Good old Bobby! _ Dean wasn't sure if it was possible to get dehydrated from crying, but Sam had shed so many tears that day he didn't want to take any chances. His t-shirt was soaked with them. Keeping one arm wrapped around Sam, he reached over, grasped the jug handle and poured some water into one of the glasses.

"Come on, Sammy, sit up and have a drink."

Sam shook his head. "N-not thirsty."

Dean didn't accept his brother's negative response and set about manoeuvring them both into a sitting position, careful to keep Sam pressed against him, remembering Sam's panic from earlier, when the child had thought Dean was leaving him. It was a difficult feat considering Sam's six foot four frame and the fact that the kid was a dead weight and did not help in the slightest, but at last, Dean had managed to achieve a sitting position with his back propped up against the headboard, with Sam still in his arms, his shaggy head now resting on Dean's shoulder instead of on his chest.

Dean took the glass of water and held it to his brother's lips. Sam tried to turn his head away.

"Come on, Sammy, just a little, for me," he coaxed.

Sam relented, allowing Dean to tip the glass and trickle the cool, refreshing liquid between his lips. Finding that the water soothed his throat which felt raw from all the sobbing, he drank the rest greedily.

"Good boy," praised Dean, setting the empty glass down. He was unsure how to continue their conversation and decided to take his cues from Sam.

Sam's tears had finally subsided once more. He spotted Digger lying against Dean's thigh and instantly reached out to grab the soft toy. Keeping one arm clasped around his big brother, he cuddled the toy dog to his chest with the other.

"You didn't answer my question, Dean. Was Dad murdered with Pastor Jim?" Sam's soft voice was faltering and unsure.

Dean took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was going to be painful for him to tell, even though it was a greatly modified version of the truth. He wasn't going to lie to his little brother, he was just going to omit certain details.

"You read Dad's journal right, so you know Mom was killed by a demon and not in a car crash like dad told you when you were little?"

Sam nodded, "Uh-huh, the yellow-eyed demon". He wondered what the death of his mother had to do with the death of his father.

"Well, the demon that killed Mom also killed Dad…."

"In a fire on the ceiling?" interrupted Sam, his face stricken.

"No, Sammy," Dean was quick to reassure and remove the distress radiating from his little brother's face, "Dad's death was painless, I promise, unlike Mom's and it was quick too." _This was the truth Dean knew – John Winchester had been alive and well one minute and simply dropped dead the next. There were only a couple of minutes between John leaving Dean's hospital room and entering his own, where Sam found him collapsed on the floor. What Dean most definitely wasn't going to share was the fact that, while their dad's actual death was painless, his afterlife would be anything but considering where he was!_

"Dad also died a hero, Sammy," continued Dean, "the demon didn't get the better of Dad. He was too clever for that! He sacrificed himself to save me. He gave his life for mine…." Dean's voice cracked. _This was even harder than he'd imagined – acknowledging out loud that his dad had given his own life to save him._

"What?" that wasn't at all what Sam had expected to hear, and the fact that Dean's voice had momentarily deserted him made him look up at his big brother in concern. He could see the sorrow and distress etched in the lines that had appeared on Dean's face. His usually bright green, mischievous eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

"Just give me a minute," muttered Dean, using deep breathing techniques to get his runaway emotions under control once more.

"I'm sorry, Dean. You must really miss him too." Sam raised his head and kissed his brother's cheek in an attempt to offer comfort. He also wrapped the arm that was holding Digger, tightly around Dean's neck, while keeping the toy clutched in his hand.

Having mastered his feelings, Dean dropped a kiss on the chocolate curls nestled on his shoulder. The kid had always worn his heart on his sleeve - always concerned about the welfare of others before his own. That hadn't changed when he was an adult either. On hunts, Sam was always able to get grieving witnesses to talk to him as he genuinely empathised with their pain.

"I'm okay now, kiddo. It's just hard. I kinda feel responsible you know? 'Cause if Dad hadn't saved me, he'd still be here…"Dean began.

"But then _you'd_ be dead," pointed out Sam matter-of-factly. _Sam couldn't see how that outcome would have been any better. There was no possible 'win win' scenario here – either he lost his dad or his big brother, a choice that Sam would never have been able to make had he been given the option._ With sudden insight, Sam asked Dean another question. "What would you have done if you could've saved Dad's life, but it meant losing yours?"

_I'd've done it in a heartbeat!_ Dean didn't even need to pause to consider his response, but it rammed home what his little brother was getting at. _How could he condemn his Dad's actions when he'd have done exactly the same to save his family?_

"I getcha, Sammy. I just wish it hadn't gone down that way." _If he hadn't been in a friggin' coma at the time, maybe he could have somehow prevented it?_

"It wasn't your choice, Dean. It was Dad's choice…. you didn't force him. And anyway aren't parents supposed to love their kids so much they'll die for them? That's what TV and books say."

_It was Dad's choice_ – Sam's words resonated deep inside Dean, chipping away at the last chunk of guilt and bitterness residing there. His release of pent up grief earlier had already eradicated the bulk of it, allowing Dean to feel unburdened for the first time in months.

Dean swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "You're right, Sammy. Dad made the choice. How did I end up with such a smart little brother, huh?"

Sam didn't respond to his brother's teasing, he'd been pondering Dean's words and a panicked thought struck him. "Dean, you said Dad died without pain, but if a demon got him, then how..." A sob arose in the boy's throat; _he couldn't bear the thought of his father suffering._ The child envisioned the demon attacking his big brother and John Winchester throwing himself between them.

"Hey now," soothed Dean, rubbing Sam's back, "It _was _painless, I promise. The demon didn't catch him or anything like that. Dad sought the freakin' bast…." Dean changed what he was going to say, suddenly remembering Sam's present age, "….thing out. Dad offered it his life in exchange for mine. To keep the balance of nature and all that. Demons might be evil sons of…umm… might be evil, despicable things, but some of them are really powerful."

Sam hiccupped as he asked his next question. "D-dad sought it out? How did it g-get you? How badly did it hurt you?"

"The demon didn't get me, Sammy."

The tall boy sniffled, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Huh? But why did Dad have to save you then?"

Dean sighed. He was making a real mess of explaining things – he had intended to relate everything in a logical, chronological way. _So much for that!_

"We'd all been in a car accident, all three of us. We were hit by a truck. The driver died at the scene…" _Dean had no intention of telling the child that the driver was a demon and that they had been deliberately targeted! If Sam ever managed to get hold of any news reports regarding the accident they all stated that the impact had killed the driver, which was true, as once the demon smoked out, the internal injuries to the body it had been inhabiting were terminal, _"….We were taken to the local hospital. You and Dad luckily had mainly minor injuries, though Dad did have a broken arm. But me…." Dean paused.

"What was wrong with you, Dean?" It came out a whisper.

"I had severe head injuries, I was in a coma, that means I was unconscious and wouldn't wake up."

Sam nodded. _He knew what 'coma' meant._ "But couldn't the doctors make you well again?"

"No, Sammy, I was injured too badly. I was on a respirator. Do you know what that is?"

Sam shook his head. He unconsciously hugged his big brother tighter at the thought of him being hurt so badly that he couldn't get better.

"A respirator is a machine that breathes for you when you can't. The doctors were pretty sure I'd never wake up and considered turning the respirator off."

Sam gasped. _If Dean couldn't breathe, he'd die! Why would they turn it off? It'd be like murdering his brother!_

Dean, attuned as always to his little brother, sensed his distress. "Calm down, Tiger. I'm here, I didn't die."

Sam buried his face in Dean's neck for a moment, unable to contemplate the desolation of being without his brother.

"Why would they do that, Dean?" Sam's question, although muffled due to his position, was just audible.

"I was never gonna recover, kid. If they didn't turn the respirator off I'd have spent the rest of my life hooked up to it and being fed through tubes. But I'd have been an empty shell…I was basically slowly getting worse and I'd have eventually ended up brain dead. In other words, I wouldn't have really been there anymore."

Dean felt Sam shudder against him.

"It's okay, Sammy. It didn't happen." Dean clasped a hand to the back of the boy's head, trying to reassure him. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Sam soaking up the much-needed comfort from his brother.

"So what happened?" Sam's voice was tentative; he raised his head slightly from Dean's neck to search his brother's gaze.

"Dad knew from the doctors there was no hope of recovery, but he was determined to find a way to save me no matter what the cost…"

"Because he loved you," butted in Sam.

Dean felt tears prick behind his eyelids. "Yeah, Sammy, 'cause he loved me." Instead of the crushing guilt, anger and resentment that Dean had been experiencing ever since his father's death, he now felt completely overwhelmed and humbled by the depth of his dad's love for him. _John Winchester had given up his lifelong crusade of finding and destroying his beloved wife's killer and willingly forfeited his own life without a second's hesitation in order to save his first-born son!_

Dean took a moment to gather himself before continuing with his explanation. "So Dad figured out a way. He knew only a really powerful demon could do it, so he summoned the yellow-eyed demon to him…."

Sam involuntarily shivered. _He'd read about rituals to summon demons in his father's journal and couldn't understand at the time why anyone would ever want to do such a thing._

"….and he offered his life in exchange for mine," continued Dean.

"Why would the demon do what Dad wanted?" asked Sam, genuinely puzzled, "I mean, if Dad was tryin' to kill it like his journal said, why would the demon help him? Wouldn't it have hated Dad? Wouldn't it have wanted him to suffer?"

"Yeah, I'm sure it did hate him. There's no doubt that Dad was a total pain in that demon's ass…I mean butt. He never quit tracking it. But think about it, Sammy, that's one of the reasons that'd make the demon agree….it was a way for it to get rid of the mighty John Winchester once and for all. The demon also got something else in the exchange, it got a very special gun that Dad owned."

"What was so special about it?" asked Sam. _Surely if demons wanted guns, they could easily get their hands on any type they wanted?_

"It was like a magic gun, Tiger. One of a kind. Ordinary guns can't kill or even cause that much damage to demons, but this one could actually kill them. Dead! Dad knew it was the only weapon that could destroy the demon permanently. It was called _The Colt_. Obviously the yellow-eyed bast…I mean monster wouldn't want a gun like that in the hands of a hunter. So yeah, Dad traded his life and the gun to save me."

Sam was quiet for a moment, digesting what Dean had said.

"Any questions, Tiger?" asked Dean.

Sam shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Dad was so brave to do that, wasn't he? He was a real super hero like you said."

"When did I say that, kiddo?" queried Dean.

"On Christmas Eve, when I stole Dad's journal and read it."

To Dean, that event had taken place years ago, but to Sam it had occurred only around two and a half months ago give or take a little.

"Yeah, Dad was a true super hero. He spent his whole life saving people."

"I miss him, D-dean," Sam's voice broke on the last word and the tears started to flow once more.

"I miss him too," murmured Dean, beginning to rub soothing circles on his brother's back as he held him.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Dean heard the quiet tread of Bobby's boots on the stairs and glanced at his watch – it was nearing half past six. After their earlier discussion about their dad, Sam had lapsed into silence, interspersed with bouts of crying. All of Dean's attempts to engage the child in conversation in an effort to distract him from his misery had fallen flat, as Sam only answered Dean's questions in monosyllables and refused to offer any speech voluntarily. One thing had remained the same throughout the afternoon – Sam physically clung to him and wouldn't let go.

Bobby appeared in the doorway carrying a tray laden with two bowls and a plate of buttered crusty bread.

"I made you boys some supper. Chicken broth." _Bobby had always made Sam and Dean chicken broth whenever they had gotten ill while staying with him when they were younger and John was off on a hunt._

"Thanks, Bobby."

Dean prodded his younger brother who was curled up against his side with his head and upper body sprawled across his older brother's chest. Digger was presently squashed in between them. "Time to eat, Sammy."

"Not hungry," came the mumbled response.

Bobby set the tray down on the bedside table after using the edge of it to push the tissues, jug and glasses to the back.

"You've gotta eat, kiddo," coaxed Dean, conscious that they had both skipped lunch.

Sam shook his head in denial.

"Come on, have a try. For me," cajoled Dean.

Sam had no intention of eating, but suddenly realised his big brother must be hungry. _Dean's always stuffing his face. He must be starving with not having lunch._ Reluctantly, Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position. Dean followed suit so that they were sitting next to each other and immediately found a little brother plastered to his side. Needing the physical contact, Sam pressed against him, hugging his stuffed dog to his chest. Luckily, issues such as personal space had never applied where his little brother was concerned and Dean gave the tall boy's shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

Bobby then handed Dean a bowl of broth with a spoon and transferred the tray to Sam's outstretched legs, knowing that the kid would be liable to spill eating in this position.

Dean quickly took a chunk of bread and dipped it in the broth, before taking a large bite, savouring the taste.

"Darn it, Bobby, this is good. My compliments to the chef. You could open your own restaurant."

"Get away with you," huffed the older hunter, nevertheless pleased by Dean's praise.

It only took a moment before Bobby and Dean both realised that the youngest Winchester wasn't eating; he hadn't even picked up his spoon.

"Come on, Sammy, eat up before it gets cold. It's delicious," persuaded Dean.

Sam shook his head. "Don't want any."

"Aww, come on, just a few bites." Dean held his own broth-filled spoon up to Sam's mouth. "It's an airplane, look, brmmmm, open wide so it can fly inside."

If Sam had had the energy, he would have rolled his eyes.

"'M not a baby, Dean." He turned his head away from the spoon. "I'm really not hungry. Honest. I'm sorry Uncle Bobby, it's not that I don't like your food."

"It's okay, kid," soothed the veteran hunter, "you've had a shock. Lack of appetite's to be expected."

Dean met Bobby's concerned gaze as he popped the spoonful of broth into his own mouth.

"If you won't eat, will you drink some milk for me, Sammy?" _Dean wanted to get __**some **__nutrients into his brother's body._

The eight-year-old nodded.

"I'm on it," muttered Bobby turning on his heels before Dean could even open his mouth to make the request.

Three minutes later, Bobby returned with a large glass of fresh, chilled milk with a straw sticking out the top. Sam had asked for straws when he'd accompanied Bobby shopping in Walmart a few weeks ago.

"Here you go, Sam."

Both Bobby and Dean were relieved when the child drank down the milk quickly.

"Do you want any more, son?" asked Bobby.

Sam squirmed and shook his head. "No thank you, Uncle Bobby."

Dean finished his broth and then ate his brother's. _No point in it going to waste!_ He kept up light-hearted conversation with Bobby while eating, hoping it would encourage his little brother to join in. Sam however remained silent. Dean wasn't sure if the kid was even actually listening to their conversation or if he was lost in his own thoughts. The older Winchester however became increasingly aware that his little brother kept fidgeting, which was in total contrast to the listlessness and apathy the child had been displaying for most of the afternoon.

After one particularly huge wriggle, Dean paused in his conversation with Bobby to question his sibling directly.

"You not comfortable, Sammy? You can lie down again if you want."

"No, I'm fine," muttered the child.

It wasn't until Sam crossed his legs and unconsciously placed one hand over his groin that Dean got an inkling of what was wrong. An image materialized in his head of a five-year-old Sammy, standing with his legs crossed, clutching his privates and wriggling anxiously on the spot after he'd been too engrossed in playing in the sand box at the local park to stop and ask to go the restroom. Even though Dean had grabbed his hand and ran the kid towards the facilities, they had arrived too late.

"Do you need to pee, Sammy?" he queried.

Sam's flushed cheeks immediately gave his brother the answer.

For a moment, Dean was confused. _If his brother needed to pee, why didn't he just go? He wasn't five anymore and hadn't had any toileting accidents since he turned six._ A fraction of a second later, Dean could have hit himself for his stupidity when the reason struck him – _going to the bathroom would mean leaving his big brother's side and from Sam's reactions earlier, he was obviously afraid of being separated from him at the moment._

Not wanting to embarrass his brother, Dean attempted not to make big deal of it.

"Well I've gotta pee too, so we might as well go now, lil bro. Up you get." Dean patted Sam's thigh, after passing the tray to Bobby.

Sam clambered off the bed after Dean, unable to bear being left behind even for a minute. He kept Digger tucked in one arm and followed his brother into the hallway.

Dean paused at the door to the bathroom. "Okay, Sammy, you go first. Leave the door open and I promise I'll wait right here for you."

Sam searched his brother's gaze. Reassured by whatever he saw there, Sam darted into the bathroom, already fumbling for the button on his jeans.

The tall boy hesitated once he exited the bathroom after washing his hands. _Would Dean expect him to return to the bedroom and wait for him there while he took care of his own physical needs?_ The fear shone clearly in Sam's hazel eyes.

"You can wait for me if you want," Dean was quick to reassure, "I'll leave the door open and I'll be real quick."

Sam nodded in relief, even as he felt the shame wash over him. _I'm such a baby!_

Five minutes later two Winchesters with now empty bladders were back on the bed. When Bobby made a move to carry the tray back downstairs and give the brothers their privacy, Dean inconspicuously shook his head. _His little brother needed to be distracted._ With this in mind, he began questioning Bobby about mermaid lore, remembering how much it had fascinated a twelve-year-old Sammy when he found out they were real and not just fictional fairy-tale creatures. Unfortunately, said little brother refused to be distracted and took no interest in their conversation, simply laying lifelessly, his head resting on his big brother's shoulder.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

It was just gone 11pm when Dean finally considered his little brother to be deeply enough asleep to risk leaving him for a while. _He needed to talk to Bobby and explain what had happened._ He gently slid the slumbering child nestled in his arms down onto the mattress, before inching carefully off the bed and tiptoeing from the room.

Bobby's hunting instincts were obviously well-honed as he'd heard the younger hunter's quiet descent and met Dean in the doorway to the living room, pulling him into a rough hug.

"You okay, son? Sam sleepin'?" Bobby pulled back from the hug to study the eldest Winchester.

"I'm fine, Bobby, 'n yeah, Sammy's asleep."

"What the hell happened, boy?!" Bobby's voice was gruff with emotion, "How'd he find out?"

Dean collapsed in an armchair to begin his explanation, "Well….."

"Hang on," instructed Bobby, moving quickly into the kitchen and returning with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, "I reckon you could use a drink."

Dean took the shot of whiskey Bobby offered him gratefully and knocked it back immediately. "Thanks."

Dean quickly explained about Sam calling St Peter's Parish to find out about Pastor Jim and how the events snowballed from there.

"Darn that kid's smart," mused Bobby when Dean had finished, "in this case too smart for his own good….but maybe it's for the best, I mean, he'd have to have been told soon anyway."

"That's what I thought, but now he knows, I'm not sure I'm not making a total hash of helping him through it." Dean's insecurities were evident in his expression.

Dean's lack of faith in himself saddened the older hunter.

"You're handling this great, Dean."

"Oh, yeah? It doesn't feel like it. What exactly am I doing? I feel so useless!"

"You're being there for Sam. You're being his rock. That's all he needs….you, and time to grieve."

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

The following afternoon found the two Winchesters cuddled together on the sofa in the living room. That morning, Sam had been reluctant to get up, preferring to stay cocooned in the bedroom. Up until lunchtime, Dean had indulged the kid's wish, before deciding that Sam's lethargy and listlessness weren't healthy. When he'd said they were getting up to eat downstairs, Sam and whined and pointed out that Uncle Bobby wouldn't mind bringing food upstairs like he had at breakfast. Dean however, had the ace up his sleeve, knowing that as his little brother still refused to be separated from him (they had again taken a joint trip to the bathroom when Sam first awoke), wherever he went, the child would follow. Hence they had ended up sitting at Bobby's worn dining table in the kitchen. Sam had immediately scooted his chair as close to Dean's as it would possibly go and clutched hold of the edge of Dean's t-shirt in one hand while hugging Digger to his chest with the other. Bobby had smiled sadly at Sam's action as he placed a plate of ham and tomato sandwiches on the table. Just as he had yesterday and that morning, Sam refused to be coaxed into eating anything. This concerned both Dean and Bobby and they were relieved that the child would at least willingly drink some milk.

After lunch, Dean had tried every tactic he could think of to distract his little brother – he'd offered to read to Sam ("No thanks," was the response), he'd asked Sam which of his toys he'd like to play with ("None," was the response), he'd suggested they go outside and play with Buster ("Buster's tired," was the response), he'd suggested they go to the tree-house ("Don't wanna," was the response), he'd suggested they bake cookies ("Don't feel like it," was the response), he'd suggested they draw and colour pictures ("Not today," was the response), he'd tried to tell some jokes (A blank stare was the response), he'd suggested they go for a drive in the Impala….and Sam had burst into tears.

_The Impala had been Daddy's car!_

Finally the tears had run their course and Sam was now snuggled up next to Dean on the old, worn leather sofa, sniffling. Dean's t-shirt was once again damp with his little brother's teardrops. He had held his brother tight while he wept, providing what comfort he could. Dean knew that there would undoubtedly be many more rivers of tears shed before the child overcame his grief and he was resolute in his determination to give his all and support the child through this overwhelming pain.

Dean kept one arm tight around Sam as he reached for the TV remote with the other. He hoped to find something on one of the channels that would interest his little brother. After flicking through channels showing a cop show, a medical drama, a rock band on stage and a cookery program, Dean finally settled on a documentary about volcanoes.

"You wanna watch this, Sammy?" _Dean knew how much his geek little brother adored nature programs. _

Sam shrugged.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

**Elsewhere in an abandoned factory****:**

Azazel hovered in the air vent in his non-corporeal, black smoky form. He observed the group of demons before him, with anger seething through his entire being. _How dare the insignificant maggots interfere with his special children! But Master had ordained that he was not to intervene. The worthless creatures before him were utterly ignorant of the higher purpose – their best guess so far was that he was creating an army of super-powered humans to help him rule._ Azazel almost pitied them – when Lucifer was finally freed he would annihilate any demons that had hindered his rising.

Azazel observed as one of his chosen children – _Michael Brunwick if his memory served correctly_ – was injected with a cocktail of drugs before being shoved into the back of a nondescript white van. The kid could move things with his mind, he was telekinetic. Michael was evidently one of the lucky ones – he was being allowed to live, although Jeanette Leaver and her minions would continue to keep tabs on him. All of his special children that they let go after examining, torturing and questioning were drugged before being dropped off in random States. The drugs in their systems ensured that the cops put their wild and fantastic tales of their kidnappings down to hallucinations. Law enforcement nationwide was so far convinced that a cult was to blame for the disappearances.

The not so lucky ones, Jeanette had killed and dissected, trying to figure out what gave the humans their supernatural powers. _They were stupid and their investigations were futile!_ Azazel knew that his blood that he had fed them as infants left no visible trace.

Azazel felt the fury in him rise further as another van entered minutes after the one transporting Michael had driven away and the driver, a blond-haired demon, moved to the back and hauled out a sobbing young woman. Azazel recognised her immediately, as he recognised all of his chosen children – her name was Veronica Rushmore and she could heal any injury simply by touching it. _He was a ninth tier demon! These inferior demons should be serving him, not hindering his purpose! Jeanette herself was merely a sixth tier demon and her cronies were from even lower tiers. But Master's plan was secret and must remain so, revealed only to Lucifer's most trusted followers._

The yellow-eyed demon himself had not known what gifts his demonic blood would bestow on the infants, he only became aware of them once they physically manifested shortly after the subject's twenty-second birthday. Azazel knew from his Master's whispers from the Cage that no matter what befell his chosen children, one of them would still arise victorious from the testing and would later triumph over Lilith and free him. His personal favourite contender, Sam Winchester, the youngest son of a feisty female hunter, Mary Campbell, was currently out of the running – he'd managed to get hit with a warlock's curse, which had reverted his brain to a developmental level prior to the age of twenty-two, rendering his psychic ability inactive.

Azazel watched as the sobbing girl was thrown into one of the empty cages lining the walls and then turned his attention to the conversation taking place between Jeanette and another demon.

"Any luck on the Winchester front?" asked Jason Wentworth. _He was eager to get his revenge on the kid! How humiliating, being bested by a mere child, even if he was ginormous! _He himself was excluded from any efforts to take Sam Winchester, as he would most likely be recognised after the failed kidnapping event at the mall.

Jeanette tossed her flame red hair back over her shoulder as she replied. "Not yet. I've got someone watching the road into town as often as I can spare it, but I can't risk or stop operations here on the off-chance we'll ensnare him. Hopefully the timings will coincide and Sam Winchester will travel into town when our associates are on standby. There must be a reason why Alistair said he was Azazel's favourite."

Azazel would have grinned maliciously if he'd had a mouth at that moment. _Alistair was one of the chosen few who knew the Master's true plan._ He was presently torturing John Winchester in Hell, intent on breaking the veteran hunter and causing him to break the first seal. So far, John Winchester was proving a formidable adversary - he remained undefeated, protecting himself while on the rack undergoing Alistair's devoted ministrations by using memories of his wife, Mary, before her death and memories of his beloved boys growing up to keep him strong.

Azazel had seen enough. As much as he wanted to tear those demons to pieces, he had to follow his Master's orders. His black, smoky form began to disintegrate as he prepared to return to his present meat-suit.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Sam refused to eat again at supper time.

"Come on, kiddo, you've gotta eat something or you're gonna make yourself ill," coaxed Dean.

"I'm not hungry, Dean. The thought of food makes me wanna puke."

"Okay," soothed Dean, not wanting to force the issue and risk upsetting his little brother, "you can eat something tomorrow instead. Would you at least drink another glass of milk or maybe some hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, I'll have some milk," agreed Sam. He'd had another melt-down not long ago and his throat was feeling raw from the sobbing.

_That particular meltdown had rivalled Sam's hysteria from the previous day. The vicious sobs shaking Sam's frame had refused to abate and Dean had grown increasingly worried. He had even considered giving the child a sedative of some sort to calm him down. Anything involving a needle was out of the question – it would just panic the kid and distress him even more and none of the children's medicines he had bought had a sedative effect - so Dean had eventually abandoned the idea. It was probably healthier for the kid to let his grief out anyway, even though it was heart-breaking to witness._

When they moved from the kitchen into the living room, Sam happened to glance in the direction of the wall shelf, which held a few ornaments, knickknacks and photographs, including the picture of John Winchester and his sons on the hood of the Impala. Sam froze and tears filled his eyes.

Dean had already seated himself on the sofa and suddenly found himself with a sniffling little brother climbing onto his lap….except this little brother happened to be six foot four!

Sam had acted on autopilot, completely forgetting about his adult-sized body – as a child, Sam had often sought comfort sitting on his big brother's knee. Seeing his dad in the photograph had brought all of his turbulent emotions to the surface once more _and he needed Dean!_

When Dean felt Sam's substantial weight settle on his lap as the tall boy seated himself there, he automatically wrapped his arms around his younger brother's waist and pulled him back to lean against his chest just as he would have when Sam was eight-years-old the first time around.

It was only when Sam attempted to rest his head on Dean's chest as he had when he was child-sized, that Sam remembered how tall he was – there was no way he could fit with his head nestled underneath Dean's chin like he used to, in fact, in this position, he could rest his chin on the top of Dean's head!

Sam immediately began to attempt to slide off his brother's lap with a stifled sob.

"S-sorry, Dean, I f-forgot."

"Now just where do you think you're going, huh?" asked Dean, wrapping his arms securely around his brother's waist and preventing him from escaping.

"I know I'm t-too heavy. It's okay," mumbled Sam.

"You stay right where you are, kiddo," instructed Dean gently, "I'm not some weakling remember and you're never too big or too heavy to sit on my lap if that's what you want_." He didn't care if his thighs ended up as flat as pancakes as long as he could provide some comfort and security to his brother._

"You sure I'm not too big?" sniffled Sam.

"Positive, Tiger."

Sam settled back against his brother's chest with a relieved sigh. The tall boy found that he could rest his head comfortably on the back of the sofa from this position.

"It's gonna be okay, you'll see," crooned Dean, keeping one arm wrapped around his brother and using the other to rub Sam's upper arm, which had Digger nestled in his elbow, soothingly.

Without a word, Bobby stood and retrieved a tissue from a nearby box and handed it to Sam so the child could mop up the tears that were steadily trickling down his cheeks. If it wasn't for the trauma that had led to the six foot four eight-year-old sitting on his big brother's knee, Bobby would have loved to have taken a picture of the cute scene, to add to his growing collection of photos of Sam and Dean taken since the warlock's curse struck.

**Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~**

Sam had a very restless night. The first night after finding out about his dad's death, the emotional shock had exhausted the young boy and he'd slept through the night, but the previous night, he had been plagued with nightmares of monsters chasing and killing John Winchester. As a result, Dean had been awakened on several occasions by a terrified, upset little brother. Each time he'd soothed and comforted the child until Sam had dropped back to sleep.

Due to the disrupted sleep, the Winchesters didn't make it down to breakfast until nearly ten thirty – again, Sam refused to eat, despite being offered an extensive choice of foodstuffs (Lucky Charms, chocolate flavoured porridge, waffles, pancakes, toast, bacon, eggs, apple pie, even chocolate bars and potato chips), but no amount of coaxing convinced Sam. However, he did consent to drinking a glass of orange juice.

Sam's refusal to eat really had the two older hunters concerned now. As a result, Bobby took a trip into town later in the morning to go to the drugstore, returning a short while later with a stock of specialised canned milkshakes.

"The assistant explained these are used to give extra sustenance to patients who are recuperating after long-term illness or injury. They contain the full recommended allowance of vitamins and minerals if four cans are drunk daily. They also contain protein and carbs….but he was careful to stress that they not be used as a substitute for food, but a figured some nutrition was better than no nutrition," explained Bobby as he carried the cans through to the living room to show Dean.

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean's gratitude was evident on his face. He nudged his little brother who was lying limply curled up against his side on the sofa. "Here, Tiger, I want you to drink one of these. What flavour would you like? Bobby bought strawberry, chocolate, banana and vanilla."

"Any," shrugged Sam, turning his head away and gazing into space.

Dean decided on strawberry and handed it to the child after opening it. Thankfully, Sam didn't protest and gulped the liquid down. Bobby put the rest of the cans in the refrigerator.

The older hunter returned from the kitchen a moment later holding a book.

"While I was out, I bought you something, Sam." Bobby, like Dean, was desperate to find a way to alleviate the child's all-consuming sorrow.

Even in his grieving state, Sam remembered his manners. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby."

As Sam took the book from Bobby's outstretched hand, Dean glanced at it intrigued – it was the second Harry Potter book. He knew that the kid had finished the first one within a couple of days of getting it and had been totally enthralled by the story.

Instead of being immediately engrossed and beginning reading right away as Bobby and Dean hoped, Sam simply set the book down on the arm of the sofa and settled back against his brother.

The rest of the day followed the pattern of the previous one – Sam still remained glued to his big brother's side, he carried Digger everywhere, he refused to eat anything solid and the child continued to alternate between apparent bouts of apathy and weeping.

That evening, Dean took Sam up to bed just after 10pm, as the boy's eyelids had begun to droop and he was obviously having trouble staying awake.

"Come on, kiddo, let's go to bed."

As an afterthought, Dean grabbed the new Harry Potter book from the arm of the sofa.

Sam mumbled something incoherent in response, but allowed his brother to pull him up into a standing position. Dean wrapped his arm securely around the tall boy's waist and supported the sleepy child as they made their way to the bedroom. Dean tucked Sam into the king-size bed, before climbing in next to him.

"How about I read you a bedtime story, huh?"

Sam blinked sleepily up at him, but did not verbally respond.

Dean opened the Harry Potter book and began to read: "Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr Vernon Dursley had been woken up in the early hours of the morning by a loud hooting noise from his nephew Harry's room….." *

Ten minutes later, Sam was fast asleep, but Dean waited a further fifteen just to be certain before he quietly exited the bedroom and made his way downstairs.

"What are we gonna do, Bobby?" asked Dean without preamble, "Should we take him to see a doctor? He's gonna make himself ill not eating and he won't play or anything."

"I've been thinking about all the parenting books I read…." began Bobby.

Dean choked. "What books?!"

Bobby flushed. "Well, when your old man began dumping you and your brother here when he went off on hunts, I knew next to nothin' about kids. And well, I didn't wanna mess up, so I figured I'd do some research."

Dean was humbled by the effort Bobby had gone to in order to do his best by him and his brother.

"Hey thanks, Bobby. I dunno what to say. I can't ever repay you for everything you've done over the years but…"

"Get away with you, yah idjit. That's what family's for and you Winchesters have been my only family for a long time now. Anyway, as I was sayin' I read a lot of books…..some of them were a lot of cock and bull if you ask me, but some made a lot of sense. The good ones went on about how kids thrive on routines and boundaries and feel secure when they know the expectations of those around them. I figure we've gotta find a way for Sam to get back into a normal routine, well as normal as possible anyway. I realise it'll take time 'cause he's obviously suffering some kind of separation anxiety at the moment. I'm not a psychologist, but even I can guess he's lost his daddy and he's petrified he's gonna lose you too."

Dean pondered the older hunter's words. "I get what you're saying, Bobby, I do. We'll just need to figure out how best to get back into a regular routine and encourage him to do stuff."

Bobby nodded. "I might not have agreed with many of John Winchester's parenting skills, but I do know your daddy would not have let Sam starve himself. That's gotta be one of the first issues we tackle. I also think distracting Sam from his grief will be easier if we get him out of the house."

An idea began to form in Dean's mind. Tomorrow, operation 'get Sammy back on track' would start in earnest…..

**TBC**

**Author's note:**** * Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling. The reference is taken from **_**Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets **_**(published 1998).**

Not eating. Convo about routines.

Bobby gives 2nd harry potter book with milkshakes


End file.
